Perceptions of Reality
by L Zaza
Summary: Starbuck survives another crash landing, but at what cost? Original Series. Occurs shortly after the events of The Hand of God. Pegasus post script added, by request.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Sagan sakes, but it hurt.

A gradual pain that built in its intensity, bringing him back from the edge of oblivion, gripping every fibre of his being, determined to squeeze the very life from him. He could feel his muscles straining with his reflexive attempt to scream, but even that was denied him. He coughed. He choked. His chest heaved with the attempt to draw one more breath. _Just one more, you can do it._ He tried to open his eyes, the bright lights blazing, blinding him, yet strangely beckoning to him, promising him relief as his mangled limbs screamed in endless torment.

He attempted to focus—to remember how this had come to pass. The flash of a salvo. The scream of jarring metal. His chest exploding in agony. Well-known voices bellowing in his ear, giving him useless advice as his ship plummeted towards the surface, out of control. He jerked up his stick, desperate to get his nose up as the ground, the planet, and several depths of Hades Hole all seemed to rush up to meet him at once.

Then pain. Excruciating pain. And darkness.

Suddenly, or so it seemed, soothing hands were on him, stroking his hair almost lovingly and touching his neck, his chest, his arm, his cheek. A wisp of breath wafted against his skin, touched his lips, and he gasped in response, seeking the familiarity, the reassurance, the promise of comfort. His heart pounded furiously, each _thud_, each beat, pulsating through his entire body, keeping pace with the yahrens flashing before his eyes. Still the pain grew worse and he gritted his teeth, just short of begging the Almighty for it to stop. A voice murmured reassurances in his ear. Told him he would be 'alright'. It was fracking hard to believe.

Another stabbing pain in his chest, like a Cylon sword penetrating his flesh, sliding between his ribs. He tried to cough, but couldn't even draw enough breath to do so. Something covered his face, and he pulled at it instinctively, desperate to fill his lungs with air. His hands were pulled away, and he fought against the effort, his strength fading with each passing micron. Then darkness descended, dragging him downward, swallowing him up in an immuring void as he struggled against it, refusing to surrender. In a split micron he realized that in the end, his spirit, his indomitable will to survive, would mean nothing when pitted against the frailty of his traitorous body.

Then an intense flash of light penetrated his awareness, and his body jerked painfully, as though he was being torn apart. The heat, the smoke, the smell of charring flesh. A helpless cry of terror. Was it his own, or someone else's? Regardless, he knew it was too late. He was beyond help.

"_STARBUCK!_" The voice so far away.

Then an inexplicable calmness began to envelop him, slowly spiralling upward, caressing him gently within and without as it promised release. His breath caught in his throat as the pain began to fade, not entirely, but enough to make him wonder what was next . . . if anything. The universe seemed to stand still, as if hesitating . . . waiting for a mystical decision that should be made by some omnipotent Being.

Ironically, it _wasn't_ a comforting thought.


	2. Chapter One

Life Station.

Sounds and smells that he was all too familiar with after several yahrens as a Colonial Warrior, and enough sectars as the lover of the _Galactica_'s most beautiful med tech. But when Starbuck opened his heavy eyelids, the blue eyes gazing intently down at him _weren't_ Cassiopeia's. Not by a long shot. He stared dumbly at the man for a moment, then gasped when it came to him. Wavy blond hair, thick eyebrows, a deeply creased forehead, a scarf and gold brocade which made an otherwise _almost_ average warrior's uniform standout. Oh, and that trademark swagger stick.

"Cain . . ." It was but a whisper.

"That's _Commander_ Cain to you, Lieutenant." The Commander looked above him, nodding at someone else before returning his attention to the warrior. "What do you remember?"

It was a damn good question. The vague memory of a battle, their forces outnumbered as usual, but they were still holding their own. Every pilot in the fight was accustomed to overwhelming odds, but they were equally optimistic, knowing that they could out-fly, out-manoeuvre, and outshoot the enemy bar none. They had to. Especially since it was the Cylons that had caught them unawares this time around.

"A Cylon attack force . . . sir." Starbuck replied, trying to recall how it had gone so wrong so quickly, at least from his point of view.

Blue and Silver Spar Squadrons were the first line of defence, and they were cutting a path through the Cylon Raiders, gradually gaining the advantage. The battlefield of space was filled with constant blasts of laser fire, exploding fighters, and ships careening every which way while trying to maintain some semblance of battle formation. It began to look more like a free-for-all, as wingmen were separated on both sides.

Starbuck stuck to Apollo's wing, keeping one eye on his captain and the other on his scanner as he picked off Cylons with his usual alacrity. Typically, his sixth sense saved him on more than one occasion as he veered to avoid a Cylon salvo locked on him. Apollo shouted out orders, trying to keep the attack to plan as they searched for an elusive Cylon Base Ship while Red and Green Squadrons protected the Fleet. Where the _frack_ was it?

Then, simultaneously, a blip on his scanner, a blinding flash of light, and Sheba's scream . . .

"Lieutenant?" Cain pulled him back to the present.

Starbuck cleared his throat, looking around the Life Station. He had to be on the _Pegasus_. But the health unit didn't twig any memories, as though it had been relocated at some point, possibly due to battle damage. He hesitated as the legendary Commander pulled up a chair, taking a seat as if planning to stay a while. It struck him as odd, since it seemed that the man usually stood or paced incessantly, his limitless energy never allowing him respite. "How did I get here? Commander?"

"One of my . . .routine patrols picked up your emergency beacon, Starbuck. They investigated and found you half dead, your Viper all but destroyed. You've been heavily sedated for the last sectar recovering from extensive third degree burns, as well as multiple fractures and internal injuries."

Starbuck glanced at his arms, first one and then the other, as the Juggernaut's words sunk in. Yeah, it might have been vain, but no pilot survived third degree burns without extensive scarring. Hades, he had seen the results of a pilot being briefly trapped within the fiery inferno of a Viper cockpit and living to suffer with the aftermath. He shook his head in mute wonder as he stared at normal, healthy skin. He touched his face, expecting a rough, ropey texture, but again, it felt normal as he traced it with his fingertips. And his pain was negligible. It didn't make sense.

"Then, when the medical team thought you were well enough to ease up on the narcotics, you seemed to have your own ideas about returning to the here and now." Cain smiled indulgently for a micron. "You've been in a coma for the last two sectons, Lieutenant. My Chief Medical Officer, Dr. Talib, quite honestly didn't think you were going to make it."

"The _Galactica_?" Starbuck asked after a moment of processing the information He was unable to comprehend his own base ship leaving him behind, only for the _Pegasus_ to pick him up. He supposed it must have been some kind of strategic necessity, assuming the two Battlestars had rendezvoused. But then why was he still on the _Pegasus_? His head began to pound with his efforts as his brain tried to make sense of the nonsensical.

"No sign of her, or the Fleet. However, I've picked up a few Cylon transmissions that give every indication that she's still out there. That they _all _are." Cain paused, looking at Starbuck searchingly for a moment before asking, "How's my daughter?"

Starbuck nodded reassuringly before answering. "Sheba's well, sir. At least . . ." The battle came back to him again. The blinding light, Sheba's scream. Then Apollo had hit his turbos, breaking formation and racing off to help the struggling Viper. Starbuck had done what he always did where Apollo was concerned. He had followed.

"At least _what_?" Cain demanded, rising from the chair.

"She was hit . . . during the battle . . ."

"_And?_" Cain insisted, his eyes locked on Starbuck's, his face tight with a tension the younger man hadn't seen since Sheba was last injured during battle and Cain had been left wondering, however briefly, if she would survive her injuries. Stripped of his unyielding self-confidence, he once again revealed the concerned father beneath the façade of the unshakeable legend .

"I don't know for sure, sir." Starbuck admitted, shaking his head uncertainly. One moment, Apollo was systematically decimating the three Raiders on Sheba's tail, and the next he was two breaths from finding himself in the deadly pinwheel attack. Starbuck had hit his thrusters, flying straight towards their formation, lasers blasting. He tore apart their wing, watching his best friend escape by the skin of his teeth. Then the lieutenant's ship had rocked once, then twice . . . "Apollo was with her. He would have made sure she made it back to the _Galactica_ safely."

"You're sure of that?" Cain asked, a flicker of hope crossing his features.

"Yes, sir." He replied adamantly, then his words softened. "They were . . . close."

"Ah." Cain replied with a thoughtful look, seemingly pleased.

Starbuck nodded reassuringly, but then the sound of Apollo's voice screaming his name from what his muddled mind had thought was the surface of the planetoid that he had crashed on, interrupted his thoughts. _And_ someone had been there with him just before that, checked him over, offered him support and comfort . . . and he had _thought_ it was. . . Lords, it just _didn't_ add up. _Any_ of it.

_Beep! Beep! Beep!_

"I'm glad to see you're finally awake, Lieutenant Starbuck. I'm Dr. Talib. You're raising my patient's blood pressure, Commander Cain."

The alarming of the medical equipment stopped as the unfamiliar woman spoke with an accent both indistinct and unrecognizable. Starbuck looked up into the most incredible pair of eyes he had ever seen. Almost violet in colour, they were fringed with thick, black lashes, and they smiled reassuringly at him in greeting. Her skin was like alabaster, with a smooth and unblemished surface that made him wonder if it had ever been touched by the sun's rays. Her raven hair was tied professionally back off her face, but a few tendrils had escaped their tether, softening the overall effect. His gaze moved downward as she studied her biomonitor. A long, white Life Station overcoat covered her slender form, but hinted at luscious curves in all the right places and he wondered where she had come from. He was certain if she had been part of the crew the last time he had been in the P_egasus_' Life Station, he would have noticed her. She was a Goddess.

"I don't remember you . . ." Starbuck murmured, his gaze returning to her face. She was now watching him with amusement, obviously having noticed his careful scrutiny. "Dr. Talib?"

"Dr. Talib joined the _Pegasus _not long after Gamoray." Cain interjected. "We rescued her and sixty-five of her people. They were all that was left of the Dionian Nation after the Cylons destroyed their civilisation."

"Dionian?" Starbuck asked, never having heard of them. At least he_ thought _he had never heard of them. Lords, he hoped it was the drugs, because his head felt as though it was filled with partially masticated mushies.

"A relatively small group of settlers that lived on the outer limits of the Delphian Empire. Of course, you know that the Cylons all but destroyed every Delphian man, woman and child when they took over Gamoray as their outer capital." Commander Cain explained. "The Dionians have been a Godsend, bringing to the _Pegasus_ a combination of advanced medical knowledge, as well as resources and manpower that we've been sorely lacking since taking on the Cylon Base Ships. This woman and her people's medical technology saved your life, Lieutenant."

Another woman caught the warrior's eye. A med tech, by the looks of the uniform. The same raven hair and alabaster complexion as Dr. Talib. She was too far away to identify the eye colour though. Sagan, they could be sisters. "How did you fare, Commander?" Starbuck asked, looking back. He frowned as Cain winced in response.

"Before our missiles destroyed those two forward Base Ships, we took a lot of damage, and lost a lot of good people, my executive officer, Tolen, included." He took a moment to reflect before continuing. "It could have been much worse. Fortunately, two Vipers showed up just before we were in target range, and knocked out their flank-side missile launchers."

Starbuck smiled slightly, remembering his and Apollo's attack on the Base Ships. It had been a strategy worthy of a young Cain.

"That was you, wasn't it?" Cain asked with sudden insight. "_You_ were one of those pilots."

"Yes, sir. Captain Apollo was the other."

Cain nodded at him, squeezing the young man's shoulder in a silent display of respect and appreciation. The commander then shook his head in bemusement, as he searched Starbuck's face, looking for something the young man didn't understand. "That's what I need here, Starbuck, if we're going to defeat those gollmonging Cylons. Men who have the experience, talent and guts to make those kinds of decisions in combat. Tell me specifically, whose plan was it? Captain Apollo's or yours?" He almost appeared to hold his breath.

"Well . . . it was my idea, Sir." He wasn't really sure why it mattered, but the satisfaction on Cain's features buoyed his spirits regardless. Apparently, his radical plan had impressed the Commander.

Cain nodded thoughtfully before continuing his tale. "Ultimately, we had to head into deep space before their main attack force of Raiders could catch up with us. But what truly mattered was that the Fleet—and the _Galactica_, of course—escaped." It almost seemed an afterthought. "I knew that Baltar would be too cowardly to return to the site of the battle to pick up his Raiders while he thought that the _Pegasus_ was in attendance. Just as I knew that the _Pegasus_ couldn't limp through another battle with yet another Base Ship. . . even with Baltar as the commander." He took a seat again, resting his stick across his lap, his face grimly set with determination. "I'll catch up to him sooner or later though."

The regret and intent was clear. Cain had personally wanted to destroy Baltar. The Juggernaut hated the traitor with an intensity that possibly exceeded Commander Adama's, and he didn't have to bury his feelings beneath the diplomatic mask of a bureautician.

"He's in the Fleet. On the Prison Barge." Starbuck told him after a moment.

"_Baltar_?" Cain asked, as though he couldn't quite believe it. "How?"

Starbuck nodded, brushing a hand back through his hair, and hesitating when he found it cropped uncharacteristically short. "I was on the Bridge when Commander Adama told us that Baltar sent him a direct communiqué . . ." He faltered, as the memories blurred.

"And?" Cain demanded, still aghast.

"I . . . uh . . ." Much like so many things about his accident that didn't make sense, the memories of Baltar becoming a prisoner of the Colonial people seemed to be just beyond his recollection. He huffed in frustration.

"Commander Cain, Lieutenant Starbuck had a severe head injury and just woke up from a coma. I'm sure a few things are going to be a little foggy for a time." Dr. Talib explained patiently. "Frankly, I'm surprised he remembers as much as he does."

"This is important." Cain shook his head insistently. "Try to remember, Starbuck."

The lieutenant nodded. "He arrived . . . under a sign of truce . . .and was taken into custody." Starbuck winced, rubbing at his temples where it felt as though someone was driving a tylinium bar from one side to the other. "The tribunal was a foregone conclusion. He was sentenced to life on the Prison Barge."

"But _why_? _What_ lured him there?" Cain asked.

Starbuck shook his head, "I can't remember." Something about lights . . .

_Beep! Beep! Beep!_

Dr. Talib hit a few switches, frowning as she studied the biomonitor. "Commander Cain, I really must insist . . ."

"All right, all right." Cain grudgingly agreed with a long suffering sigh. He looked at the young man a long moment before asking softly, "What about Cassiopeia?"

"She's fine." Starbuck replied, never having been all that comfortable with the fact that Cassie had made her decision between them, thinking Cain was more than likely dead.

"That sounds like the answer of a man who has given her up." The Juggernaut mused, his face unreadable.

"Well, coming from the man who left her behind, I don't know why you'd care." Starbuck replied in a heartbeat, watching the commander's eyebrows raise in surprise.

"I had no choice. The risks were too great." Cain replied after a moment. "You knew that. Hades hole, if my memory serves me correctly, _you_ offered to come with me." He paused again, looked at Starbuck strangely.

"Seemed like the right thing to do at the time, Commander." Starbuck replied nonchalantly. It had been a knee-jerk reaction. Maybe it was breathing the same heady air as the tactical genius who was willing to risk it all, and had the unmovable confidence to believe he could pull it off. The aura of Cain was one that moved men to do the impossible. It had been a little intoxicating after so many sectars of having a primary mandate of defending a Fleet of civilians. Lords of Kobol, to go out in a blaze of glory . . .

"I see." Cain replied, rising to his feet. "And now? Would you offer again?"

Starbuck studied the man, unsure of what he was asking. "Sir?"

"I need an officer to lead my squadrons, Starbuck. After sending most of my warriors to the _Galactica_, all I have left are a few noncoms, and a whole lot of Dionians. Don't get me wrong, they're all good people, they just lack the instinct and natural ability that I believe _you_ have." He smiled briefly. "Let's face it, you remind me of _me_ during my younger yahrens. What do you say, Lieutenant?"

"I'd be honoured, Sir." Sitting up, he reflexively squared his shoulders and puffed out his chest—which was _damn_ painful in retrospect . It was unbelievable. From death's door, to leading Cain's squadrons? But . . .if the Juggernaut had sent his Vipers to the _Galactica_ . . . just what would they be flying?

"Good, good. That's what I like to see, _no_ hesitation." Cain reached out his hand and gripped the younger man's arm. "Now, according to Dr. Talib, you have three days of rehab before you, and then I'll brief you on your duties and our current situation. I'm planning to take advantage of your skills and experience, Starbuck. We have squadrons to whip into shape, and Cylons to eradicate." He raised his swagger stick and nodded briskly.

"Cain, surely you intend to tell him?" Dr. Talib spoke sharply, as the Commander turned to go.

"Tell me what?" Starbuck asked, his brow furrowing as Cain looked at him almost painfully. He could feel a tightening in his chest as he awaited the Juggernaut's answer.


	3. Chapter Two

"Tell me _what_, Commander?" Starbuck asked again, his patience obviously waning as he awaited an answer.

"I'm not a man who beats around the bush, Lieutenant." Cain told him, but the look on the younger man's face cried 'bovine mong, you're doing it right now'. And they both knew it.

Cain had battled with the information from the time Talib had first knocked him on his astrum with it. It was impossible, he told himself. But the Chief Medical Officer had checked, and rechecked the results using both Dionian medical technology and Colonial, until Cain knew beyond doubt.

"Starbuck . . . you're my son."

For almost three sectons Cain had played this scene out in his mind, wondering how the lieutenant would react. But the other just stared mutely at him, as if he had suddenly sprouted a couple horns and a tail. Then Starbuck smiled slightly, looking at Cain dubiously.

"You're putting me on . . ." he suggested tentatively, looking around as if expecting a group of practical jokers to jump out.

"Now, why would I do that?" Cain asked seriously.

Starbuck shook his head in wonder looking to Dr. Talib. She nodded, confirming the news from the medical perspective. "But . . . that's _impossible_. How could _I_ be _your_ son?"

Talib sat on the chair that Cain had recently vacated. "Lieutenant, when you were first brought into Life Station, we ran every blood test known to Dionysus on you. From that we discovered that not only do you and Commander Cain share an uncommon blood type, but you also share a recessive gene that could potentially cause a blood dyscrasia."

"Come again?" Starbuck asked, looking from Talib to Cain and back again. "And who the frack is _Dionysus_?"

"My apologies, Lieutenant. Dionysus is one of our many deities, though that's hardly relevant to your concerns." Talib explained. "Commander Cain was one of a handful of people called upon to donate blood for you initially. As you probably are aware, your blood type isn't common. When I screened his blood, I noticed the rare recessive gene that strangely matched your own. It is of little concern, unless you had children with a woman who also carried the gene, and then your offspring could potentially end up with a blood dyscrasia resulting in a clotting deficiency. I can do some genetic counselling with you at a later time, to explain that more thoroughly." She paused, letting the information sink in. "Naturally, when time allowed, I did some genetics testing and discovered that Commander Cain is indeed your father."

"I checked Fleet service records, Starbuck. You're recorded as being an orphan, with no identified next of kin, unless that's incorrect." Starbuck seemed to smile ruefully, before he shook his head. Cain didn't understand the other's reaction, and the younger man wasn't forthcoming, so he moved on. "I admit I have been curious if you know _where_ you come from."

Starbuck let out a short breath. "Wait just a centon! Are you saying that . . . Sheba is my . . . _sister_? But how did _I _end up . . ." His shoulders shrugged dramatically, his hands palm upward, his eyes wide; his body language screamed out his disbelief and confusion.

Cain knew just how he felt.

The young man had cut to the chase, just like Cain would have. When he had scanned over Starbuck's service record, he had seen many traits similar to his own, especially as a younger man. An outstanding pilot, commonly assigned to the most dangerous and challenging missions, a reputation for bravery and rashness, and not afraid to _strategically_ _amend_ his commanding officer's orders if he thought it necessary. Lieutenant Starbuck was a man who got the job done. A man that any father would be proud to have as a son. So, it was some reluctance and shame that he admitted to his son, "Half-sister."

"Half-sister . . ." Starbuck repeated, and he sucked in a deep breath as the realization hit him. "So . . . my mother was your . . . _bit_ on the side?" He snorted derisively. "Do you even _know_ who my mother _was_?"

He deserved that. But all the same, Cain wasn't about to let his subordinate officer—the man he was intending to lead his squadrons—get away with it. "You're way out of line, Lieutenant!"

"_I'm_ out of line?" Starbuck snapped back. "I'm willing to bet that your _wife_, Siress Bethany, would argue that point!"

"Both of you, stop it now!" Dr. Talib stepped in. "By all that's holy, don't either of you realize what a precious gift you've been given? You, Lieutenant. You should be dead. Instead, by the grace of Asmodei, you've been given a second lease on life, not to mention a chance to know your father. A man, who I understand, is a great hero amongst your people. A man you should be _proud_ to call father." Her face was intent, and her eyes appeared to darken, taking on an almost black appearance. She turned towards Cain. "And you, Commander. Doesn't every great man dream of a having such a son? Here he is. The answer to your long buried, but fervent wish. A gift."

Her words were so close to the truth that they startled Cain. Even Bethany had known his private disappointment when their first child was a girl. She had understood his need to continue the male line, to have a strong, strapping son to follow in his father's footsteps, perhaps even outdo him in accomplishments. Nothing would have made him prouder. And so they had continued to try, losing three more babies, all of them girls, in a seven-yahren period. Finally, Bethany's compromised health and depression from repeated miscarriages had ended their quest. Cain had admitted defeat, and had focused on being the best father he could to Sheba—while spending most of his time at war, far from his wife and child.

"Umbra."

The word was spoken so softly, that Cain almost missed it. He glanced at Starbuck—his son—to see blue eyes studying him intently. The young man swallowed anxiously, and Cain could tell that it meant a lot to him that his mother wasn't just some nameless, faceless one-night-stand from his father's past. Well, at least he could give him that much.

"Do you remember your mother, Starbuck? At all?"

The young man lowered his eyes in reflection for a moment. "Feelings. Images. That's all really." He met Cain's gaze once again.

"Her name was Rhea. She was the Strike Captain on the _Columbia_ when I was a Colonel there."

"You're sure?" Starbuck asked hesitantly.

"Absolutely. Contrary to what you obviously believe, I only had one affair after I was married, and _not_ a woman in every spaceport." He didn't mention that he had to give all _those_ women up just before he had sealed with Bethany . . .

"A man of great restraint." Starbuck replied sardonically.

"Do you want to hear this, or not?" Cain retorted sharply. "I'm not telling this tale for my own benefit."

Starbuck let out a breath, his lips tight. He nodded, "Go ahead."

"We'd been friends for yahrens, having worked together when I was a Captain and Rhea was a brand new ensign on the Battlecruiser _Cygnus_. She was a fine pilot, and had a feel for her ship that I hadn't really seen in someone with her lack of experience, and _especially_ in a woman. It intrigued me. She was also very attractive. Blonde hair, blue eyes . . ." He trailed off as Starbuck looked at him searchingly. "Yes, very much like Cassiopeia."

"Rhea and I became briefly involved on the _Cygnus_—this was several yahrens before I married Bethany, by the way—but as soon as my commanding officer became aware of our relationship, they transferred me off to the _Columbia_ so quickly, I barely had time to say goodbye. They were much more strict about fraternization rules back then."

"Yahrens later, she was assigned to the _Columbia_ as our Strike Captain." Cain smiled at the memory of the proud warrior saluting him crisply as she jumped down from her fighter. "I was sealed then, going through some difficult times with Bethany who didn't quite understand what she was getting into when she married an officer in the Colonial Service." Every time he had returned home he was met with a passionate, joyous woman who couldn't get enough of him. And every time he shipped out again, he left behind an embittered, lonely woman who felt abandoned and betrayed. "We shipped out for a six sectar tour that stretched into a yahren. After an especially harsh battle where we lost a lot of good pilots—a lot of good friends—well, suffice it to say Rhea and I started an intimate relationship that lasted until we returned to Caprica."

"I honestly didn't know what to do then. I loved them both you see. I truly did." Starbuck merely nodded, his expression neutral, as if he could somehow understand loving two women simultaneously. "Ultimately, my decision was made for me." Cain sighed, as emotions and memories from the past washed over him. "Commander Kronus took me into his quarters before I left on furlon. He told me that Rhea had resigned her commission for personal reasons. At the time, I was too dense . . . or too much in denial to realize why. Obviously, she was pregnant with you, Starbuck. I never even considered that. Then Kronus gave me some of the most oft repeated advice in the service. If I wanted to save my marriage—and my career—to forget about Rhea and get my astrum home, making sure that my wife was pregnant before I came back. He advised me that Bethany needed something besides resentment to occupy her spare time." In a Kobolian society, the scandal of fraternization was enough to blacken a man's personal record, obliterating his chances at ever commanding his own Battlestar. Kronus had been more than clear on that point.

"So, you really don't know much about how she came to be in Umbra . . . who her people were?" Starbuck appeared to be thinking it all over. Digesting the information. Actually, he looked like someone had just hit him up the side of the head with a shuttlecraft.

"I never met them, no. And I never saw Rhea again after my meeting with Commander Kronus." Honestly, he had been surprised that his rigid, by-the-manual commanding officer had given him another chance, considering their styles were so vastly different. Perhaps Kronus figured it would temper his impetuous nature, and do him some good, after being under his tutelage long enough. "However, I can tell you all about _my_ people, Starbuck. Going back generations. _Your_ people. You come from good stock, son." He smiled proudly. From an orphan without a past, to Commander Cain's son. No wonder the young man was so quiet. He must be counting his lucky stars all the way from Caprica to Adama's Earth.

"One more thing." Starbuck said after a moment.

"Yes?"

"Are you planning to tell Sheba? Or is this some deep, dark secret of yours?"

"Hades hole, Starbuck, I'm planning to tell _everyone _that I have a son." He couldn't help the cocky grin that spread across his face. He almost felt like he should be handing out fumarellos, however belatedly. "I just wanted you to know first. Of course, Sheba will require some special consideration when we eventually meet up with the Fleet again. Uh . . . you _do_ get along with her, don't you?"

"Yeah," Starbuck nodded distractedly, as he looked contemplative, then confused.

"Is something wrong, Lieutenant?" Dr. Talib asked him.

"Wrong?" Starbuck asked wryly as he rolled his eyes. "What could be wrong?"

Talib looked at him in concern, running her biomonitor over him once again. "I think he needs to get some rest, Commander Cain."

Cain nodded. "I have a meeting with Tartarus anyhow."

"Tartarus?" Starbuck asked.

"My executive officer." Cain explained. "And Dr. Talib's lifemate."

Starbuck stared at him, his face again a mask of disbelief. He ran a hand through his shorn hair once again, muttering, "Where the frack am I again?" He was obviously overwhelmed with all the news

"The _Pegasus_, Lieutenant." And with that, Cain raised his swagger stick in farewell, and left.

----------

Author's note: Yes, I know that Chameleon was discovered to be Starbuck's father in _the Man_ _With Nine Lives_ . . . but Starbuck doesn't.


	4. Chapter Three

0200 centars in the Life Station and he was wide-awake. As usual.

Lords, his mind hadn't stopped since two days before when he had awakened to find out that not only had he defied both death and horrible disfigurement through the wonders of Dionian medical science, but that Commander Cain, the Juggernaut, was his . . . _father_. He was still looking over his shoulder, waiting for someone to tell him, "_Smile, you're on Hilarity Holovids!_"

The really crazy thing was that when he had gone through the paces just a few sectars back with Chameleon over the same issue, it had just seemed . . . _right_. He couldn't really explain it, not even to himself, but . . . strangely, the old conman felt more like the man his father should have been. Even keeping in mind that the genetic tests had turned out to be negative. It had been surprisingly difficult to push the whole Chameleon episode out of his mind and stop feeling sorry for himself over something that shouldn't have affected him as much as it did. _You let yourself get your hopes up, Bucko. You should have known better. Hades, Apollo warned you about doing just that._

So when Cain had told him the news, it was almost like déjà vu. _Commander Cain's son. _

Lords, Boomer would wet himself laughing over this one. Apollo would have a coronary. Cassie would smile in bemusement, realizing she had loved both father and son. And Sheba . . . He grimaced. Sheba was _not _going to be a happy lady when she found out that her revered father had a bastard son. He sniffed quietly. Yeah, from unknown orphan to Cain's bastard. _Quite the leap there, pal. _And the really absurd part was that Cain obviously thought he should be over the moon about it! Well, at least Starbuck now knew that he came by his own ego honestly.

Looking on the brighter side of things, he was about to take over the command of the _Pegasus_ squadrons. He wasn't sure how much of that honour was being bestowed for his ability—versus everybody else's _lack_ of ability—and how much was because he was the long awaited son, according to Dr. Talib. Regardless, if Cain didn't know the answer to that, Starbuck did. And he'd prove that beyond a doubt, he was the right man for the job.

Starbuck swung his legs silently over the biobed, listening for the med tech on duty. Another Dionian, again looking much like Dr. Talib, was laboriously going through her medical data at the desk, oblivious to his movements. He couldn't get over how each Dionian female looked so alike, much like the Tenna's that had been cloned by Dr. Ravishol on the ice planet; however, these Beings weren't identical. He was curious to see one of their males.

He slipped to the floor, quietly heading for the door, not even caring that he was barefoot and shirtless. For some reason, the health care team seemed reluctant to give him much in the way of clothing or footwear, at least when they weren't putting him through his tortuous rehab exercises for centars at a time. He could understand why they fully expected to have him back to active duty after another day. He'd be so desperate to sit behind a duty desk and rest, he'd be ready to release himself. Well, just maybe he could get out of another gruelling day of rehab . . .

He stole down the corridor, feeling a strange weight leave him at his sudden freedom. Sagan sakes, it felt good just to stretch his legs without any particular destination or goal in mind. He smiled, almost giddy at the thought that at this very moment he was in charge of his own destiny. No probing biomonitors, no physical endurance assessments, no psychological evaluations. _Right or left, Bucko? Up or . . . down._ He headed towards the nearest turbolift, crossing his arms over his chest as the chill air hit him.

The one problem that persisted from his accident was strange memory lapses. There were certain incidents, seemingly taking place over a few days or so of his life, that he just couldn't get back. And the cues were seemingly unrelated . . . or at least so he thought. Those niggling thoughts that had turned coherent recollection into an instantaneous blur of forgetfulness: like why Baltar had thrown himself at their mercy, and why Starbuck had this inexplicable bond with Sheba over _something_ regarding Apollo. Hopefully, it would carry him and Sheba through the 'brotherly bastard' discussion when they met up again.

Two men approached him from down the corridor and he maintained an unconcerned mien, as they eyed him curiously from head to toe. He studied them unconcernedly in return. That same glowing alabaster skin beneath a neatly trimmed beard. The glossy black hair cut short. Their eyes . . . the same strange violet colour. Again, until he was close enough to see telling signs of distinction, they could have been brothers. Lords, these people really needed some new blood in their gene pool. He nodded at them in passing, and then stopped in front of the turbolift, stepping within and selecting the launch bay level. He wanted to see these Dionian ships.

Starbuck was almost surprised when the lift took him directly there without incident. Somehow, he was expecting someone to intervene, or to challenge him. Hades, if he saw a half-naked man running around the _Galactica_, it might just occur to him to ask what he was up to . . . or maybe he'd just comm the captain and suggest Apollo do it. It wasn't really within his realm of responsibilities. Now, a half-naked woman . . . _Any thought that might warm you up, Bucko._ Lords, his feet were all but frozen to the deckplate. This might have been a stupid idea. Even for him.

"Can I help you?"

Starbuck smiled, almost relieved that security hadn't gone by the wayside, after all. He turned to see a Dionian woman dressed in a standard-issued warrior's uniform. A cadet. Her long, dark hair was worn loosely over one shoulder, and her high cheekbones accented her stunning eyes . . . which were trained on him speculatively.

"Lieutenant Starbuck." He nodded at her, aware of her eyes running over him, first in surprise, then in appreciation and interest.

"Cadet Aeisha, sir." She immediately stood erect, straightening her shoulders, and thrusting out her chest.

"At ease, Cadet." He held up a hand, after taking a selfish moment to appreciate her military stance, waving off her decorum as he turned towards the bay. "Show me our fighters, Aeisha."

"Yes, sir." She replied, falling in slightly behind him.

Starbuck's approach slowed as he laid eyes on the Dionian ships. The charcoal grey fighter was slightly smaller than a Viper, but generally, the same shape. Somehow, though, she seemed more streamlined, her lines smoother and more pleasing to the eye. The gentle arc between wing and fuselage looked more like that of an avian, and the cockpit's canopy was oval in shape. He walked around her slowly, and then climbed up, looking into the cockpit.

"Well?" he asked the cadet, looking over the instrumentation.

She smiled at him in return. "The _Shikra_, Lieutenant. Capable of both space and atmospheric combat. She's nine metrons in length and carries one pilot, with life support technology that can sustain a human for fifteen days in inertia. She has two laser-torpedo guns, and has the capacity to carry two missiles, though doesn't do so routinely. She's has two ion propulsion engines, and can attain sub-light speeds, comparable to that of the Colonial Viper . . . actually, slightly faster. She handles like a dream." She grinned as he agilely climbed inside the cockpit, activating the computer and looking over the displayed specs. "What do you think?"

"Nice." The seat seemed to be molded to his body, designed for comfort. "But I'll know better when I can take her for a spin." He shook his head at his lack of pressure suit . . . and uniform. "Gonna have to wait, I guess."

"I heard you were still in the Life Station until tomorrow, Lieutenant." She scaled the ship, leaning over the cockpit, smiling at him in bemusement.

"I heard that too," he chuckled. He leaned back as the computer screen continued to feed him diagrammatic representations of the _Shikra_. It was almost eerie how the ship was so similar to the Viper, yet with slight improvements. Almost as if she was designed to entice him with her modifications, yet make him feel at home in a somewhat familiar environment. "How many do we have?"

"Eighty _Shikra_'s, sir. Another eight Vipers." She moistened her lips, leaning closer.

"And pilots?"

"Forty Dionians. Sixteen Colonials."

"Fifty-six? That's it?" It was just over a third of the _Galactica_'s roster.

"Colonel Tartarus says it's not numbers that matter, it's skill."

"Yeah, bridge officers often say felgercarb like that." He bit his lip, reminding himself that he was supposed to be the wing leader, and as such probably shouldn't be criticising the executive officer, that he hadn't even met yet. Some habits were tough to break. He smiled at her, to lighten his words. "You must be working plenty of double and split shifts with numbers like that."

"Double shifts?" Aeisha asked.

"Sixteen centar days."

"Dionians routinely work sixteen centar days. We require very little sleep."

"How little is 'very little'?"

"Two or three centars, Lieutenant. It helps fill in the roster."

Starbuck shook his head. An efficient little bonus in a warrior. If only they didn't all look like they came off some assembly line with slight modifications for purposes of identification. "So, tell me, if I pinch you, does it hurt?"

Aeisha smiled slowly, leaning closer still. "Why don't you try it for yourself, and find out, Starbuck."

One moment he was gazing into those violet eyes, like mesmerizing pools of darkness, and the next she was magically straddling his lap, kissing him passionately, her fingers running through his hair. She clutched the back of his neck, pulling him to her with surprising strength. Her breasts pressed against his bare chest, as her pelvis ground into his, leaving him with no doubt as to her desires. She was no blushing virgin.

"Gods, Starbuck . . ." she gasped, shrugging out of her jacket desperately, and tossing it over the edge of the fighter. She pulled her tunic over her head, as his hands explored her back languidly, stroking her flesh. Then Aeisha gripped his hands and moved them so they cupped her breasts. "Touch me."

She was a woman who knew what she wanted. She watched him, her eyes locked on his, as he stroked her skin, his fingers tantalising sensitive buds of flesh. She closed her eyes in ecstasy, arching her slender neck and sighing in satisfaction. He felt her nails rake his shoulders, and then grip the back of his neck, pulling his head forward.

"Taste me . . ." she murmured.

It was pure sexual chemistry, no emotion, just lust. He suckled her, first one breast then the other, and she cradled his head, moaning her encouragement as her hips gyrated sensually. His teeth grazed her, and she groaned aloud, pulling him to her again as her body writhed in his arms. She was like a felix in heat. It was not at all like his more languid lovemaking with Cassiopeia . . .

Then familiar blue eyes seemed to stare at him from his very soul and he startled, pushing Aeisha back from him. _What the frack are you doing, Bucko?_ "Wait a centon . . ." he breathed.

She gazed down at him, her hips grinding against him in invitation. "I could make your every sexual fantasy come true, Starbuck. Just say you'll be mine." She smiled at him enticingly. "If only for a few stolen moments of pleasure . . . I know that you want me, I can feel your need . . . Surrender to your desires."

He hesitated, his chest rising and falling rapidly with each shallow breath. Yeah, he wanted her. He wanted her so badly, that he ached for her. She lay one hand on his chest, grazing him lightly with her nails, while the other rested behind his neck. She was a Siren, luring him to her, tantalising him with her every touch and movement. And like irresistible sustenance, every breath that he took of her intoxicating scent made him want to consume her, to drink in her beauty and passion until he was sated. Lords, just _looking_ at her fanned the flames of his desire.

"It could be a very long time before you see her again." Aeisha's eyes narrowed devilishly as she changed tactics. "You might _never_ see her again. But I promise you, I can make you forget her with just . . ." She leaned closer to him. " . . .one more . . ." Her lips were millimetrons from his own, the gentle caress of her breath teasing his senses. " . . .kiss."

Then her lips were on his again, and her taste was like the finest ambrosa; intoxicating. The sensations washed over him wave after wave, until he found himself adrift, unable to recall what had made him pause just moments before. He held onto her tightly, like a lifeline, his body reacting instinctually, consumed by his lust.

"Tell me you're mine." Aeisha gasped, wriggling against him.

Lords, he _needed_ her. _Had _to have her. "You're mine," he rasped, grinning wickedly as he gripped her hips possessively.

"Tell me," she insisted, again rubbing herself against him, tantalising him, tempting him as she gazed into his eyes, demanding capitulation.

Then those pools of violet took on a new dimension and he suddenly felt like he was standing on the edge of an abyss, gazing into its infinite black depths. A direct portal to Hades hole . . .if a guy believed in that sort of thing. His breath caught in his throat and he shook his head slowly as an iciness penetrated his body, squelching his desire, "Sorry, sweetheart . . I'm . . . taken." He blew out a short breath of disbelief. _Testosterone overload, Bucko. Like a goddamned teenager. _

"Well, I suppose I can let you think about it awhile longer." She purred, her hands resting on his shoulders as she leaned in for another kiss . . . only to be stopped by his insistent hands between them.

"This is a mistake, Aeisha. I'm your commanding officer."

"Not yet, you're not." She smiled at him, lightly tugging at his waistband meaningfully.

"Get off me," he managed, pushing her back once again, this time not so gently. "I mean it."

She managed to pout prettily, but he could see something darker lurking behind her eyelashes. His eyes followed her as she climbed down from the fighter, finding her tunic and jacket and tugging them on.

"Your loss, Lieutenant."

"Don't I know it," he replied ruefully, willing his body back under control. It had been over a sectar since he had made love to Cassiopeia. _A sectar really isn't that long, Bucko . . . on a geologic time scale anyhow_. He took a deep breath and thought about his lady on the _Galactica_, wondering when he would see her again. For all he knew, she thought he was dead. And he couldn't help but think that she hadn't waited for Cain. Would she wait for him?

"If you change your mind—anytime—I'm easy to find." Aeisha smiled at him as if she could read his mind. Then she strode across the launch bay, tossing back her head and combing her fingers through her long, black hair, her hips swaying provocatively.

He sighed, lying his head back against the _Shikra_'s headrest. Conflicting thoughts and emotions tore at him. He wasn't sure if he should kick himself or thank the Lords of Kobol. Well, at least he wasn't cold any longer. Not by a long shot.

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Thanks and credit to the Battlestar Galactica Tech Manual for the use of any technological details which I adapted for the Dionian _Shikra_.


	5. Chapter Four

Starbuck shot up in the biobed from a dead sleep as an unknown weight landed on his lap. Through blurry eyes he could see a Dionian male standing at the foot of his bed, studying him. As the warrior ran a hand through his dishevelled hair, it took a milli-centon to take in the blue uniform of command, and the rest of the usual features—black hair, violet eyes, neat beard, unnaturally pale skin—that predictably followed suit. The lieutenant glanced down to see a complete Colonial Warrior's uniform, boots included, before again regarding the Dionian and offering a not-so-cheerful, "Good morning to you too, pal."

"I'm Colonel Tartarus," the man nodded briefly, a glimmer of amusement at the lieutenant almost jumping out of his skin quickly disappearing beneath a Tigh-like scowl with the less than militarily correct greeting. "You've been discharged from the Life Station early, Lieutenant."

"Good. Glad to hear it, Colonel." Starbuck nodded.

It didn't really seem to matter where you were; universally if you didn't follow the rules of the Life Station, they no longer deemed it necessary for you to be there. He slipped his legs over the biobed, feeling Dr. Talib's eyes on him. He nodded at her cheerfully, holding up a boot. "Thanks for the care, Doc."

"Will you be dressing before you go this time, Lieutenant?" She asked, making it clear that she knew of his clandestine escape during the rest period.

"Hey, never let it be said that I let a little thing like clothing get in the way of a good time." He grinned as she thought that over. From the amount of time she took to digest it, he had the idea that his and Aeisha's tryst was already all over the ship. Yes, the typical Battlestar rumour mill. Somehow he didn't think that the Dionian woman was the type to be discrete.

"Sometimes taking comfort in a woman's arms can make a man forget his troubles, at least for a little while, Lieutenant." Tartarus said unexpectedly.

Starbuck looked at him in surprise. Tigh, he was not. "I thought you were going to give me the fraternization speech with the line of command subsection."

"Dionians regard regular sexual activity as a basic need. As important as food, shelter and air." Tartarus told him.

"Really?" Starbuck grinned and replied, "I think I might get to like your people."

"That's fortuitous, because with your unusual eye and hair colouring, you will be sought out by our women."

"Sought out?"

"Yes, Dionian women can be quite aggressive."

_No mong, Colonel_, he couldn't help but think about Aeisha.

"We're meeting with Commander Cain in fifteen centons, Lieutenant. Get dressed."

xxxxx

The last time Starbuck had been in Cain's private quarters, he was being shown a holovid of Cassiopeia by the exalted Commander. The mood was all business this time around as Cain began relaying information about his pilots, the duty roster, the training, and their ships.

"When the Dionians first joined us, we spent most of our time refitting the _Pegasus_ after taking significant damage from tangling with those two Base Stars." Cain sat on the edge of his desk as he spoke. "We've adjusted and readjusted the duty roster to try and find the right combination of pilots to form squadrons within the wing."

"How are they fitting in together?" Starbuck asked, remembering the growing pains that some of the _Galactica_'s crew had with Cain's pilots when they were assigned aboard. Not always did they see eye to eye, especially after having vastly different commanding officers.

"I'm afraid there have been a few issues. Most of them to do with tactics. We need to get the Dionians up to speed on the way _we_ do things." Cain told him.

"Well, what have you been doing in the meantime?" Starbuck asked, looking from Commander to Colonel.

"Isolating them." Tartarus replied. "We've flown Colonials with Colonials, and Dionians with Dionians."

"Can't make for much of a cohesive unit." Starbuck commented.

"Exactly," Cain frowned. "We've done it out of necessity, simply because I haven't had the time to dedicate to retraining. That's one of the duties that I'm assigning to you as a priority, Starbuck. I want Dionians and Colonials working together, knowing that they can count on one another. I want to see my squadrons flying in correct formation, and breaking on command. I want the Cylons rusting themselves when they know they're coming up against us."

"Whose been in charge up until now?" Starbuck asked.

"Lieutenant Chatan." Tartarus replied.

"Doesn't sound . . .familiar." Starbuck tried to place the officer.

"He's Dionian." The Colonel responded.

"Oh." He probably shouldn't have sounded quite so surprised.

"I know what you're thinking, Lieutenant. What's a Dionian Lieutenant doing in command of the Pegasus' wing?" Cain nodded. "Unfortunately, it would have bred a lot of resentment had I put one of my flight sergeants in charge of Dionian Officers. It would have reeked of preferential treatment."

"Especially when taking into account that ninety-point-nine percent of the wing's fightercraft are Dionian." Colonel Tartarus added pointedly.

"So you only had twenty-eight-point-five percent resentment, instead of seventy-one-point-four?" Starbuck returned casually. "Still, a _lot_ of resentment."

Tartarus raised his eyebrows before replying, "Yes. Quite."

Cain chuckled, nodding at his new wing leader. "We've had a few other problems within the ranks. Fraternization has been among them, Lieutenant."

"So I gathered." Starbuck kept his features carefully neutral.

"Dionian females spend as much time on their backs as they do in their cockpits." Cain elaborated.

"Merely a cultural difference, Commander." Tartarus shrugged.

"So what's been done about it?" Starbuck asked.

"Lieutenant Chatan failed to recognize it as a problem." Cain frowned at his second-in-command. "That's one of the many reasons you're replacing him."

Starbuck wondered if he was the only one who found that ironic.

xxxxx

Fifty-six sets of eyes all trained on him, and not just for a micron or two as he made the obligatory wisecrack back on the _Galactica_. Sixteen sets of those eyes looked somewhat hopeful, the other forty, entirely suspicious. He compared it to a hand of pyramid. _Never let them see you sweat, Bucko._

"For those of you who don't know, I'm Lieutenant Starbuck. As of now, I'm the wing leader for the _Pegasus_."

"Welcome aboard, Lieutenant." Aeisha grinned at him, looking him up and down like he was a tasty dish that had been personally laid out for her consumption.

Actually, a few of the Dionian women were looking at him that way. Quite a few. Tartarus hadn't been exaggerating. "Actually, I've been aboard for a while, but thanks all the same. And thanks to those who found me on that planetoid, and hauled me back here. I never did get any names . . ."

"Our immense pleasure, Lieutenant." A Dionian woman smiled, introducing herself. "Lieutenant Saheema. Ensigns Zaid and Kasim were with me at the time. And Flight Sergeant Elara."

"But it was a planet, Lieutenant Starbuck," Flight Sergeant Elara told him. While still attractive, she was a contrast to the Dionian women. Chestnut brown hair that was tied up on her head, brown eyes, and . . . a bit on the _big_-_boned_ side, as Jolly used to say. "Not a planetoid."

Starbuck paused, "A planet?" He didn't miss Saheema sending a glare the Flight Sergeant's way, but the Dionian lieutenant's face transformed into a pleasant smile when she discovered his eyes upon her.

"Yes, sir." Elara nodded insistently. She opened her mouth, as if she had something to add, then abruptly closed it again, shuffling from foot to foot.

"Uh . . ." He was sure that it had been a planetoid that he was heading for before he crashed. Yeah, he was a bit out of it with the pain, but he just didn't make mistakes like that in the cockpit . . . especially with a computer in front of him. "Show me on the navigational board later?" he asked of Elara.

"Of course, Lieutenant." Elara agreed eagerly.

His eyes scanned the room for the second time, coming to rest on a particularly surly looking Dionian lieutenant. The previous wing leader, no doubt. "Lieutenant Chatan?"

The Dionian straightened up, surprised to be picked out so quickly. "Yes, Lieutenant?"

"I'll be counting on you to get me up to speed on the latest pilot evaluations, strengths and weaknesses, and where we're at with ongoing training in Colonial tactics."

"That should take about a micron." A short, dark-haired Colonial snickered.

"Something to add, Sergeant . . .?" Starbuck asked, trying his patented 'Tigh-scowl' out on the warrior. The man withered like a tropical flower in an icy breeze, before pulling himself erect.

Frack, it was like commanding cadets all over again. Only, instead of wide-eyed kids staring at him in awe and a little fear, these were seasoned warriors with yahrens of experience behind them . . . or so he'd been led to believe by Colonel Tartarus.

"Doyle, sir."

"Doyle. Sounds like you're volunteering to run the overdue diagnostics on the Vipers. Good of you." He smiled pleasantly. "I want a personal report at 0800 centars tomorrow in the duty office."

Doyle winced. "Yes, sir."

"You might as well know that in order to get to know all of you, I intend to accompany you on your routine patrols." He paused, awaiting the usual groan that went along with such cheery news. He wasn't disappointed. "Yeah, I'm looking forward to it too."

A few surprised chuckles.

"All the same, I intend to get Silver Spar squadron back to her former glory _long_ before we meet up with the likes of Captain Bojay and Lieutenant Sheba." He looked around, picking out the Colonials. Not all of them were able to meet his eyes. "Because, the way I hear it, if we keep flying like you have been, every pilot for himself—or herself—the Cylons are going to decimate us in our next skirmish."

He could see them bristle in response. _Tough._

"And how are we going to recapture that elusive glory, you might ask . . ." He looked at them expectantly. None of them bit. "Or you might not." He shrugged indifferently. "But I'll tell you just the same. Polish off your datapads, boys and girls, we're going back to flight school."

xxxxx

Starbuck had gained a new respect for Apollo. After one secton of patrols, evaluations, fighter diagnostics, formations, tactics, navigation, communications, topographical analysis, as well as dealing with the extraneous felgercarb of getting Colonials and Dionians to work together, he was fracking exhausted. Oh, and on top of that, _he_—wing leader and pilot extraordinaire—had had to get qualified in the _Shikra_. Lords, there was still so much that he had yet to approach as wing leader that . . . _well, that's obviously why you're lying here awake in the middle of the rest period, Bucko._

He lay on his bunk staring at the ceiling, still not accustomed to the private quarters that he had been afforded as wing leader. It was too damn quiet. As much as the challenge of leading Cain's squadrons was rewarding on a new and different level, he could safely admit in the still of the darkness that he missed the _Galactica_—the only home he had known for almost a deca-yahren.

Yeah, it had been a luxury that he had never truly appreciated, to stride into the Galactica's OC and have the barkeep automatically pour him his 'usual'. Then to take a place at one of a number of tables where he didn't even have to consider whether or not he would be welcome. He'd regale his friends with tales of his exploits—real and imagined—just before he'd plan his next big card game. Of course, where and when he would hold it had to be kept strictly secret, as to keep Colonel Tigh in the dark about the most idiotic form of fraternization between the ranks.

Speaking of fraternization . . . He sighed, shaking his head, as he thought about the endless line of Dionian women who had propositioned him since Aeisha. Well, at first, it had been a bit of a boost to the old ego, but before long he realized that he really preferred to be the 'chaser', and not the 'chased'. There was no thrill, no heightened level of expectation, no challenge, when sixteen violet-eyed, raven-haired beauties were willing to 'give it up' in a storeroom, Viper cockpit, or even on the duty desk at his say. Sagan, if the boys from Blue Squadron ever got wind of Starbuck having to beat the Dionians off with a stick . . . then again, if he worded it like _that_, he just might retain something of the old reputation.

He sniffed self-derisively. _Why do you bother, pal? Who do you really think you're fooling?_

The truth was he missed Cassiopeia far more than he had ever expected. Sure, he had said those three little words to her, but now that he was parsecs away, he was finally figuring out what they really meant. To him anyhow. Yeah, his own personal squadron of Dionian women was no replacement for the woman he loved. _Cassiopeia_. Just the feel of her name on his lips brought a smile to his face. He ached to hold her in his arms; to make slow, sensuous love to her; to hear her moans of desire; and feel her body arch against his. _You're fracking horny, is what you are, Bucko!_

He let out a deep breath, rolling over for the umpteenth time in a centar, wondering if he should just get up and knock a few duties off his list for the day. At least it would be more productive than just lying there. He still needed to juggle the duty roster, shake up the rotation once again, so his pilots could get used to flying with anyone effectively. Actually, he was surprisingly satisfied with how they were responding to his command, and for now he could easily ignore the rumblings about him getting the job because he was _Cain's son_. Hades, they all knew he had only just found that out himself, and his expertise and experience had more than made itself apparent as soon as he climbed into a _Shikra_ for the first time. Besides, in the eight yahrens that Cain had commanded Sheba, he had never afforded his legitimate daughter that same position of wing leader, knowing full well it could be misinterpreted as preferential treatment in the eyes of other senior officers, such as Bojay.

On another level, and even considering how much Starbuck respected Sheba as a Colonial Warrior, an able officer and a hot pilot, it was just _wrong_ for a Commander to even potentially refer to his wing leader as '_Baby_'.

Speaking of babies, that Dionian fighter was made for a pilot like Starbuck. More powerful than a Viper, and even more manoeuvrable, with a positional weapons system that meant he didn't need to line himself up behind his target to hit it; the _Shikra_ was a fracking dream. He had felt like a cadet again, remembering the first time he had graduated from the Starfighters he had trained in, to the new Vipers, hot off the production line. Sagan, Apollo and Boomer would go crazy when they finally got a chance to . . .

Ah . . . yes. But, so far Cain didn't seem very inclined to rendezvous with Commander Adama. Starbuck had figured that the Juggernaut had consciously decided to keep his distance. After all, if he joined the Fleet, he would be technically under Adama's command once again, his commission being almost a full yahren behind the _Galactica_'s commander. Cain had ignored Adama's orders twice within the short time they were last together, and rumour had it, that Cain had been close to mutiny when Adama had capitulated at his old friend's request, finally giving him his blessing when he sent him into battle against Baltar's Base Ships.

On the other hand, Starbuck knew that with two Battlestars protecting the Fleet, they'd be able to go on the offensive more often. It would be a chance to lose the Cylons for good, to make sure that once they were well on their way to Earth, that there would be no mortal enemies pursuing them, determined to finish off them, and any other Human who would grant them safe harbour. Starbuck had to influence Cain in a way that the Juggernaut wouldn't be affronted if he had any chance of getting back to his friends . . . his family.

_Lords, what would Apollo do . . . ?_

_xxxxx_

There were two distinct paths in red on the navigational board in the War Room. Both diverged from where the _Galactica_ and _Pegasus_ had last crossed paths over Gamoray. Commander Cain had already gone over his crew's flight into deep space, and how they limped into Dionian territory, spending some sectons making critical repairs on his Battlestar. Then their subsequent sectons during which the newly integrated crew had seemingly resisted their Commander's attempt to have them work together.

None of the usual methods had worked. Discipline, cajoling, threatening, shaming . . . the two factions had dug in their heels, refusing to cooperate, making it a necessity that they be separated. Then they had suddenly found Starbuck, and it had been Colonel Tartarus' idea that the _Galactica_ warrior—the outsider, as it were—might make the ideal wing leader.

Cain watched as his wing leader—his son—paced at the board, telling him the continuing saga of Adama from Gamoray onward. He had to admit it was a much more compelling tale than his own. A battle and ensuing fire that had almost destroyed the Battlestar and its Commander; the discovery and interception of a fleeing group of Humans from a planet known as Lunar Seven, and then the arrest of their enemies, a Commander Leiter and his crew, representing the Eastern Alliance; the escape of the same group of men from the Prison Barge with some Borellian Nomen, but Baltar's own recapture; the discovery of Terra and its people as they were about to embark on a war that could have resulted in a nuclear holocaust; and lastly the infiltration of a Cylon Base Star and the subsequent battle that had seen the _Galactica_ victorious.

"Well, that old modocker! I didn't know Adama had it in him." Cain grinned at his son. The lieutenant had made more progress in a couple sectons with his squadrons than Cain had managed in a couple sectars. Apparently, watching Starbuck fly manoeuvres in a _Shikra_ was a sight to behold. And while he had known the lieutenant was a capable pilot, he hadn't realized that Starbuck had a natural talent for inspiring others, much of it through his own love and exuberance for flying. Cain had listened on the commline as his son put his pilots through the paces day after gruelling day, challenging them to rise to the occasion time and time again, to try and keep up with their squadron leader. The excitement in their voices was contagious as a new camaraderie spread though the ranks, even infecting his bridge crew. Finally, when Cain walked into the mess room, he would see Dionians sitting with Colonials, speaking of their latest tactical training and their joint achievements.

"Something bothers me though, Commander." Starbuck responded.

"What's that, Starbuck?" It hadn't escaped Cain's notice that Starbuck always referred to him as 'Commander'. He tried to tone down the formality between them when they were alone, and it wasn't as if he expected the younger man to start calling him 'Daddy', but the occasional 'father' might be nice. Then again, at this point they still had a stilted personal relationship. Perhaps he needed to spend a little more time just getting to know his son for the man he was, and not the wing leader he had become. But there simply hadn't been time.

Starbuck's index finger traced the Pegasus' trail until it stopped in Delta quadrant. He tapped a planet lightly. "According to Flight Sergeant Elara, this is where you picked me up. Strangely, she said that though my Viper was a smouldering wreck, there was no sign of a crash . . . or a _landing_, more specifically." His finger then traced another path, that of the _Galactica_, far from that position. He tapped the navigational board again, holding his father's eye. "_This_ is where I crashed."

Cain's eyes narrowed as he walked over to the board, Starbuck's careful plotting running through his mind. His son had been a bit sketchy on details surrounding the planet Terra, but he had let it slide when Starbuck began to get agitated at his lack of recall, rubbing his temples as if the beginnings of another of those gollmonging headaches was afflicting him again. Dr. Talib had told Cain that it was a psychosomatic reaction to the lieutenant trying too hard to remember what they now realized could be memories that were gone forever. All the same, Starbuck's carefully detailed report had left Cain with no doubt that this was the last known position of the _Galactica_. But now . . . "That's . . . impossible."

"Improbable." Starbuck corrected him.

"How do you explain it?" Cain challenged him.

"I _can't_. I just know its true." Starbuck replied with a shrug.

"I can't accept that, Starbuck." Cain shook his head, looking over the parsecs that separated the two points. A journey that would take days even at sub-light speed.

"Fine."

"Fine?" Cain asked. "What do you mean by 'fine'?"

"I didn't think you could accept it. I just wanted you to recognize it for what it is."

"The truth?" Cain asked with an amused sniff. Lords of Kobol, he almost felt that he was having this discussion with Adama. _Not_ what he expected of Starbuck, his own blood.

Starbuck sighed, sitting down on the corner of the desk. "Commander Adama told me once that 'truth is but a perception of reality'.

_Uh huh_. "Adama said that?"

"Yes, sir."

"_Sounds_ like something Adama would say." Cain replied sceptically. "What does it _mean_?"

"Danged if I know," Starbuck chuckled, a wistful look on his face, as he obviously thought about his former Commander.

Cain smiled at the younger man, somewhat relieved. "I thought you were going to go all _mystical_ on me."

"I just think that there's . . . _something_ going on here that we don't understand. I can't explain it, I just don't want to _ignore_ it."

"Go on." Cain encouraged him.

"All right. Weirdness number two. There's a period of a few days that I seem to have trouble recollecting. Not long after the fire on the _Galactica_. That _same_ time period seems to correspond with about the time you entered Dionian territory and took them aboard the _Pegasus_."

"And?"

"I know it just seems coincidental, but it still stands out in my mind." Starbuck shrugged. "And now, I realize there's another day—when Apollo and I were on Terra—where again, there are chunks of my memory just . . . gone."

"Sounds like some kind of conspiracy theory." Cain smiled tolerantly. "Who are the bad guys?"

"I wish I knew." Starbuck shrugged. "You never did tell me, how did Colonel Tartarus get to be your executive officer?"

Cain nodded. "I could tell you disapproved when I first mentioned it."

"How much do you really know about these Dionians? Other than what they've told you?" Starbuck asked.

"Point conceded." Cain looked at the door to the War Room, almost expecting Colonel Tartarus to show up on cue. "It was a necessity. Part of our agreement, and in exchange for the critical resources to refit the _Pegasus_ as well as the eighty _Shikra_ fighters. He wasn't willing to give me what was left of the Dionian forces, without having some input on what would be done with them." Cain replied. "I thought it a reasonable compromise, considering the circumstances."

"I'm surprised he didn't suggest that _you_ become _his_ executive officer." The lieutenant looked at him searchingly.

"He did." Cain replied guardedly. "I had to point out that while he had the fighters, the _Pegasus_ was still mine." A thinly veiled threat that had set the tone for their early relationship. Even damaged, the _Pegasus_ could have blown what was left of the Dionian nation straight to Hades hole. "In the end, our common hatred for the Cylons eased the way for us joining forces. Tartarus took a demotion in becoming my Colonel."

"From?"

"_Shaitan_. It's a Dionian title much like our 'Commander'. You can't have two Commanders in charge of one Battlestar."

Starbuck sniffed, "I remember that you like to be the man to give the orders. Not _receive_ them. Is that why you haven't caught up to the _Galactica_?"

"Well, now, I don't know exactly where she is, do I, Lieutenant? Isn't that why we're having this little talk?" He paused. "We have to do something about that , don't we?"

"Finding the _Galactica_? Sure . . ."

"Actually, I meant your rank. My wing leader should really be a rank above his other officers." He smiled as Starbuck looked at him in surprise. "Besides that, you're doing one heck of a job with my squadron . . . Captain."

Starbuck gaped at him for about three microns, then scepticism crossed his features and finally a knowing smile lit his face. "Wait a centon, Commander. Weren't we discussing the _Galactica_ and how we were going to find her? And thanks for the promotion. With the way I've been working my astrum off, personally I think it's overdue, so a couple sectons back pay wouldn't be amiss. At least, I _hope_ there's an accompanying pay hike."

Cain raised an eyebrow at the young man. Yeah, he was just like his old man. Starbuck stepped up to the navigation board once again, extending his line of the _Galactica_'s route. Cain waited for the explanation that he knew was coming.

"Earth. Quadrant alpha, 19 million sectars by epsilon vector 22, on a circular reckoning course of 000.9." He plotted a course of interception by the _Pegasus_ and Cain realized that his son—his Strike Captain—had already thought this over. He had just been biding his time, and waiting until the right moment to present it. "That's how we'll find the _Galactica_, Commander. That's how we'll find all of them. Your pilots, your daughter . . . and _my _Cassiopeia. If we have two Battlestars escorting the Fleet, Commander Adama is going to be more inclined to go on the offensive more often. Especially, now that he's had a taste of it. It's the edge we need against the Cylons. To leave them behind for good. It's our only chance that when we finally find Earth, that we won't be leading an armada of machines, bent on the destruction of mankind, straight to them."

Cain stared at him, mouth agape. "Nice speech, but back up just a centon, Starbuck! Now, how in Hades hole could you possibly know the precise course to Earth?" Starbuck looked at him blankly, and then winced . . .

The door to the War Room burst open, and Colonel Tartarus stood there, looking from one man to the other.

"Congratulate me, Colonel," Starbuck adlibbed with a hasty grin. "I'm a Captain."

Tartarus hesitated before entering the room, curiously looking over the courses plotted out on the board. "I must apologize, I didn't realize there was a command meeting taking place."

"Not a command meeting, so much as an update, Colonel." Cain shrugged. "And an overdue promotion as my Strike Captain so poignantly pointed out." He clapped a hand on Starbuck's shoulder.

"I see. Congratulations, Captain." Tartarus held out a hand, gripping the younger man's forearm in a warrior's grasp. "You've worked hard achieving what some of us thought was impossible, and you deserve it."

"Thank you, sir."

"Now, what's this course of interception?" Tartarus turned on Cain. "I thought our plan was to remain separated from your Fleet, keeping them safe from a distance and maintaining a level of autonomy that you didn't have with Commander Adama as your ranking officer, Commander Cain."

"Ahh . . . " Starbuck muttered, nodding as if he had expected that. "Just how do you keep the Fleet safe 'from a distance' if you don't even know exactly where they are?"

"I _was_ addressing the Commander, Captain." Tartarus snapped.

"He does have a point, Tartarus." Cain agreed. "No, we've been struggling to get this old girl shipshape again, as well as her squadron, and it's time to rethink our game plan."

"We had an agreement, Cain." Tartarus snarled.

"Which I've fulfilled, _Colonel_." Cain snapped. "Remember your place."

The look of outraged contempt that Tartarus directed Cain's way would have shaken a lesser man. "By the grace of Asmodei . . . _I_remember."

Then the resounding scream of the klaxon broke the mood, and Starbuck darted between them, racing to lead his squadron in what could be their first real test.


	6. Chapter Five

"Silver Spar Leader requesting permission to launch." Even as Starbuck said the words, he was already thinking 'too fracking slow'. Their response time wasn't good enough, and although he already knew that their patrol picking up the Cylon Raiders on their scanners had bought them the precious time necessary to make the difference, he was already planning a series of Red Alert drills as part of his future training regimen.

"Silver Spar Leader, launch when ready."

Then he thumbed the control and was thrust back into the _Shikra_'s seat with his internal organs struggling to escape through any available orifice exiting to the rear.

Exactly.

You'd think by now they would have come up with something a little more forgiving on a warrior's body. After all, how many launches did they have to go through in a lifetime? _Not a lot of old warriors flying Vipers, Bucko . . ._

"This is Lieu . . . Captain Starbuck, this is for real, boys and girls. Form up on your leaders. Chatan, you're going right. Saheema, left. The rest of us, head on. Break." A classic pincer move.

"_Captain_ Starbuck! There'll be no living with him now!" Sergeant Doyle exclaimed over the comm.

"Congrats, Captain. It's about time." This time it was Elara.

Despite the chatter he could see they were falling into position, eight fighters per formation, three formations. Chatan and Saheema would circle around, coming in on the Cylon force from their exposed flanks. The rest of the squadron were in reserve, ready to launch if needed, conserving fuel, and leaving them a fresh wave of fighters should it be necessary. . .however unlikely that seemed. Starbuck felt that familiar rush that hit him just before battle. It was as if the _Shikra_ had become an extension of himself—her scanners, his eyes; her computers, his mind; her weapons system, his vengeance.

"We'll _all_ celebrate later in the OC and the first round will be on me. Make me proud, Silver Spar." He flicked through the data on his computer, checking the information he had received from the Bridge against what was before him. Twenty-four Raiders. Larger than the usual patrol. Yeah, the Cylons knew they were out there, and were looking for them. Now it was Silver Spar's job to make sure they didn't make it back to within comm range of their Base Ship to report the Pegasus' position. It was looking good. Wide open space. Nowhere for the enemy to run to. Nowhere to hide. "Looks like the Bridge was right; an advance patrol. Easy pickings. This is textbook, people."

"Remind me, Captain. What page?" Doyle asked ruefully.

"Well, since you still haven't got around to turning the damn manual right-side-up, it doesn't much matter, Doyle." Starbuck ribbed him. "Quick review—observe your enemy, predict his future position, manoeuvre your ship and weaponry in response to your prediction, and last, react to the changes in the situation as you execute your manoeuvres. Basic fighter manoeuvres are flown in the _future_. Got that, Doyle?"

"Uh . . ." the voice was nervous this time. They'd been out of the game for a while, and it was showing.

"Or as my old flight instructor used to say, cover your allotted area, find the enemy and blow him to Hades hole . . . If you can do that, everything else is felgercarb." Starbuck inserted.

A sniff of relief. "Thanks, Skipper."

"Let's go, Silver Spar. Engage."

Starbuck could feel his body tense in readiness, as the Raiders came within range. His thumb lightly caressed his laser button, as he waited for that precise moment where his computer confirmed a locked-on target, and then he fired. It was the most beautiful split-micron, fiery ball of destruction he had seen in a long time. Okay, the _only_ one. "Yeeeeeehawwwww!"

Similarly, he could see his pilots making a dent in the Cylon phalanx, and then the two groups of enemy fighters had raced past each other. It was with a twisted sense of pleasure that he watched on his rear scanner as Chatan and Saheema's attack forces struck again from both flanks.

"Break right, Elara." He said to his wingman. "Let's go get 'em."

Wingmen were communicating effectively as they again formed up to get back in the fight. Starbuck nodded in satisfaction as he watched them put into practice everything that they had reviewed during the last two sectons. One-on-one tactics, one-on-many, two-on-many; when to change approaches and when to revert back. Lords, he had drilled them in the simulators until their astrums were numb from sitting. Then he had taken them into space, and even into several different atmospheres, putting them through the paces until he was satisfied they could hold their own for real. Yeah, with all they had accomplished in such a relatively short time, he had made his old Academy flight instructors look like they were a soft touch.

"Watch it, Captain." A somewhat vague and unhelpful warning.

"I've got your tail, Captain." Flight Sergeant Elara reassured him a milli-centon later.

"It's all yours, Sergeant." He quipped, but that sixth sense, that he had credited with keeping him alive for this long, had kicked in. He had already started evasive manoeuvres, jerking hard on his control stick as he cut back on his thrusters, effecting the sharpest turn the _Shikra_ could handle in space.

It was pretty damn sharp. Laser fire shot by him, missing him completely. The Raider adjusted course, trying to get behind him once again. That was when Elara finished it off. Beautiful.

"Nice shooting, Elara!"

"Captain, Chatan here. We've got three running."

Starbuck quickly checked his scanner, finding the fleeing Cylons too far away from his position. The Dionian lieutenant was in the best position. "Intercept, Chatan."

"Aeisha, Vickers and Quabil, form up on me!" Chatan ordered his pilots.

Starbuck watched with interest as the more powerful _Shikra_s easily caught the Raiders. It was then only a matter of microns until they were blown out of existence by the four pursuing warriors.

"We did it!" Some excited voice cried out.

"We sure did." Starbuck replied. Every Cylon destroyed. Not a single casualty on their side. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm ready for that drink in the OC." As Strike Captain, he was now officially third in command of the Pegasus. Tonight, the Officer's Club would be open to noncoms and officers alike on his orders. _Heh heh, who would have thought, Bucko. The power!_

"And if I remember correctly, the first round's on you, Captain." Doyle reminded him with a laugh.

"Yep. By the way, could anyone loan me a few cubits?" He grinned as a series of retorts and chuckles filled the commline. It was almost like being on the_Galactica_. Almost. "Okay, Silver Spar Squadron, let's go home."

xxxxx

"I'm not sure I've ever been prouder than I am right at this centon . . ." Cain's voice faded, choked by emotion.

The words, so entirely heartfelt, caught Starbuck entirely by surprise, as Commander Cain removed his son's lieutenant collar pins—taking his own sweet time—and then replaced them with those of a captain. The Juggernaut held Starbuck's eyes for a long moment, then grasped his son's arm tightly in a warrior's grip, as Silver Spar Squadron cheered effusively behind them.

"Congratulations, Captain."

Then against all probability, Cain pulled the younger man into a tight embrace. Starbuck could feel his own emotions rising close to the surface. It was all just a little too much. A promotion that he had never really expected, the clear acceptance and respect of his warriors, and now this unpredictable display of emotion by his father.

Starbuck had specifically requested that they keep this promotion ceremony low key so as to celebrate his squadron's achievements before his own. Cain had reluctantly agreed to delay it by a secton, and to skip the dress uniform, the speeches, and the painful ceremonial felgercarb that Starbuck had always tolerated with half an eye on his chrono, and the other half on the exit. Of course, when it was _him_ being decorated or promoted, it was a little easier to swallow . . . especially with a cold glass of ale from the bar to wash it down..

"Thank you, Commander." Starbuck replied, as his father finally loosened his grip, releasing him.

"I mean it, Starbuck. I never realized that seeing my own son achieve so much in such a short time, could make me so proud." Cain reinforced, looking a little bemused at his own admission. "It beats every medal I was ever awarded, knowing that you have the potential to one day surpass my achievements."

"Lords of Kobol, Commander, are you learning _humility_?" Starbuck teased him, his features suitably aghast, even as his chest swelled with pride.

"Not from _you_, smart-astrum," Cain retorted with a grin, putting an arm across his shoulders and steering him towards the bar. "Let me buy you a drink. I might even be able to chase down some of that cylindrical, dehydrated stink-weed that you like to fill your lungs with."

Yeah, it was strange how things had changed since Silver Spar Squadron's first fire fight with the Cylons. It was a boost to morale that had infected the entire Battlestar. Now Starbuck's warriors _deserved_ to wear the insignia of the once again esteemed Silver Spar Squadron, and they had proven it in another two skirmishes with the Cylons since then.

Cain dragged him to the bar as members of his squadron patted him on the back, congratulating him along the way. Even the Dionian women had backed off on their aggressive pursuit of him, almost doing a 'one-eighty' as they now acted coy and subdued whenever he was around. No, he didn't understand it—and God willing, he never would—but all the same, it was easier to live with. He had even thought about asking Flight Sergeant Elara out . . . but then someone would undoubtedly throw _fraternization_ in his face again . . .

Suddenly Colonel Tartarus was thrusting a fumarello into his hands, and even offering him a light as Cain ordered _vintage_ ambrosa for the three. Mind you, on the _Pegasus_ that translated as the stuff that they had distilled _after_ the Destruction of the Fifth Fleet, not several hundred yahrens ago on a penal colony called Proteus.

Starbuck drew a deep breath, savouring the taste of the smoke. He noticed Tartarus smiling slightly as the Colonel watched him exhale through his nose, the smoke completing the journey through his respiratory system. He nodded his enquiry at the executive officer.

"You seem . . . _content_, Captain." Tartarus suggested. "The _Pegasus_ has been good for you."

"Better than the alternative." Starbuck replied with a grin as his father handed him a drink.

"The _Galactica_?" Cain asked curiously, clinking his glass against his Strike Captain's.

Starbuck sniffed at that. "Death." He took a sip of his drink, wincing as fiery liquid burnt all the way down.

Tartarus considered him for a moment. "If you were given the choice between returning to the _Galactica_ as a lieutenant, or remaining on the _Pegasus_ as the Strike Captain, which would you do?"

Starbuck looked out over the crowded room of people who had become his friends. Generally, he had always made friends easily, and as long as he kept the circle around him large enough, he had found that friends were ultimately transferable. After enough yahrens as an orphan and Colonial Warrior, he was accustomed to the people in his life eventually moving on. It was inevitable. At least that's what he kept telling himself. Sure, he didn't have a close friend like Apollo or Boomer here, but then again, he had made some real differences on the _Pegasus_ that he would never have been given the opportunity to do on the _Galactica_. _And_he had finally found his father. His family.

"Mighty big 'if'," Starbuck replied wryly, meeting his father's eyes with amusement.

Cain chuckled at the thought. "We're a team. Starbuck's not going anywhere."

They had discussed military strategy and tactics long into their rest periods, as father and son attempted to make up for lost time. It had made for some interesting debates. But still, Starbuck had trouble reaching Cain on a more personal level. And he realized that he wasn't comfortable opening up to his father, like he had been with Chameleon, as strange as that sounded. It still baffled him how Chameleon had been able to create an atmosphere where he had drawn Starbuck out from behind his insouciant façade like no one had ever done before. Before the warrior knew it, he had revealed his hopes and dreams for his future, and had even considered giving up his career. Drawn like a moth to a flame . . .

"Doesn't sound like he's giving me any choice in the matter." Starbuck remarked aside to Tartarus.

"I'm your commanding officer _and_ your father. Your astrum is mine. Besides, I believe that Adama would be the first to congratulate you on your promotion when he hears the news."

"So, you're serious about rendezvousing with the _Galactica_?" Tartarus asked Cain.

"Quite serious. If we're going to defeat the Cylons, we'll be better equipped to do it with two Battlestars, and more than one small squadron, even one as good as Silver Spar is becoming." He clapped a hand on Starbuck's shoulder. "I know you have your doubts about joining the Fleet, Colonel Tartarus . . ."

"Actually, Commander, I've reconsidered my decision." He smiled at the father and son. "With the progress that I've . . . excuse me, _we've_ made, I believe it's time. Let's find your Fleet and meet this . . . Commander Adama." He smiled pleasantly, his violet eyes shining in their intensity. "The time for revenge is nigh upon us."

A sudden, uneasy feeling gripped Starbuck, but his father turned to him, throwing an arm over his shoulders and raising a fist in the air.

"Yes, death to the Cylons!" Cain hollered.

From all around them came the answering clamour, as they joined their Commander in his battle cry, "Death to the Cylons!"


	7. Chapter Six

It was with a sense of expectation that Starbuck paced to the Bridge. He had been commed to report there on the double, and while he didn't really have any concrete reason to suspect they had picked up some sign of the Fleet, he still reserved the hope that his old friends—and lover—were not far ahead of them. After all, the _Pegasus_ could travel far faster than the hampered _Galactica_, with its two-hundred-and-twenty-odd hangers-on.

It would be the best of both worlds by far. He had every intention of coercing Cassiopeia over to the _Pegasus_, even if that meant having to win her heart all over again. Lords, it had been over two sectars since he had crashed following the battle with the Cylons—and while he still had no idea why he had ended up parsecs away being picked up by Commander Cain, he could only assume that some stroke of fate or luck had intervened on his behalf. He had given up trying to define that, realizing that ultimately he might never find a logical or acceptable solution to the question.

He strode onto the busy Bridge, heading straight for Cain. The Commander was gazing out at the vast sea of stars before him, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

"What is it, Commander?" Starbuck asked him.

"A signal." Cain responded before even turning. "A short-range beacon." The Commander headed to the navigation board, pointing out the point of origin. "We're picking up a single Human life form on a planet with a compatible atmosphere to Caprica's."

"A single . . ." Starbuck muttered, running a hand back through hair that was finally growing out again. Memories hit him of a rumour that had run through the squadrons on the _Galactica_ like wildfire days after they had infiltrated the Cylon Base Ship, courtesy of Baltar's critical inside information. Apollo had walked around that day, going through the motions, as if he had been hit by a laser set on stun—or stupid. Whatever was going on had shaken the _Galactica_'s Strike Captain. Starbuck had had every intention of prying the information out of his friend over a bottle of ambrosa, but then the Red Alert had sounded . . . He now shook his head in denial, his very being expunging the possibility that was forefront in his mind. "Frack, he _couldn't _have . . . I _can't_ believe it."

Cain stared at him for a moment before ordering him, "War Room, Captain. Colonel, you have the Bridge."

Starbuck sighed, following his father, closing the door behind him. Cain whirled on him. His body was tense. The Commander didn't even have to say it. He wanted answers. Now.

"When Apollo and I infiltrated that Base Ship I told you about, Baltar told us how to find the Control Center and blow the computer banks, wiping out the scanners, without actually having to penetrate the Control Room." Starbuck told him, his body shifting restlessly as he explained.

"_Baltar_?" Cain exclaimed. "Why would Baltar . . .?" His features changed three times in a few microns—disbelief, concentration, resignation. "Ah . . . I see. Adama promised him _freedom_."

Starbuck nodded, and then awaited the inevitable explosion.

"The way _I_ remember it, you already told me that Baltar was sentenced to _life_ on the Prison Barge! Not that the gollmonging traitor to the Colonial Nation—the man responsible for billions of deaths and the devastation of the Twelve Colonies of Man—was being set _free,_ in trade for what could only amount to a few centons worth of . . . _information_." He spat the word derisively at his son.

"Hey, _I_ didn't make the deal with Baltar," Starbuck protested, wondering why he felt compelled to defend a classified decision made by his former Commander. Perhaps it was his deeply ingrained allegiance to Adama.

"No, " Cain jabbed him in the chest with his index finger, "but _you_ lied to me."

"I did not," Starbuck argued, letting out a breath as Cain stared daggers at him. He winced, shifting from foot to foot, realizing it must seem that way to his father. He added more quietly, "At least, not knowingly."

"Explain that."

"I knew that Commander Adama had to offer _something_ for Baltar to give us the necessary information to penetrate the Base Ship. It wasn't like I expected the traitorous snitrad to volunteer the information out of the goodness of his heart," he added caustically. At the time, infiltrating the enemy war ship—and getting back out alive—was forefront in his mind, not how Adama had convinced Baltar to cooperate. "I just didn't think that the Commander would offer him . . . freedom." He trailed off, weighing the military importance of destroying a Cylon Base Ship, against letting Baltar, the betrayer of their civilisation, off the hook so completely. It just wasn't . . ._right_.

"What did you _think_ would motivate Baltar to help, if not his freedom?" Cain asked him cynically, as if thinking him naive.

Starbuck shook his head, taking a few paces away, turning from his father. "Threats." He shrugged. There was more than one way to skin a felix. "Make it known that life on the Prison Barge could be easy . . . or _hard_. Baltar doesn't strike me as a man who would survive _hard_ for very long."

The silence that followed seemed as if it would go on eternally.

"You're right. Baltar is a cowardly, snivelling shadow of the man that he could have been, had he decided not to sell out his own people, and, instead, reveal what the Cylons were planning." His tone was venomous.

"You sound as if you actually respected him once . . ." Starbuck turned to meet his gaze, curious as to Cain's choice of words.

"I shook his gollmonging hand ten yahrens ago, when he was appointed to the Quorum of Twelve!" Cain grimaced at his hand, clenching it into a fist, the thought a vile reminder of the past. "I had considered him an intelligent man and a realist, after spending some time in his company at a few society functions. Baltar talked a good game. He was . . . _persuasive_. He seemed like someone who could make a difference, and sway President Adar to realize that the _only_ end to the War would come through a conclusive victory, not peace."

Starbuck nodded, waiting. Somehow he just knew there was more coming. Cain's nostrils were flaring, as he took deep, steadying breaths in and out. After enough yahrens of mastering the art of deciphering human behavior— most of that experience admittedly gained through playing pyramid—the young man could see the impassioned hatred radiating off his father. Hatred much more personal than anything Starbuck felt towards Baltar.

"His personal and bureaucratic philosophy seemed to change drastically as the yahrens went on." Cain continued. "He became more supportive of Adar's bid for peace, at least on the surface. I'm also convinced that Baltar had _something_ to do with the ambush of the Fifth Fleet at the Battle of Molecay," Cain murmured, his voice low. "_Someone_ gave us away. It was too well planned, too well coordinated for it _not_ to have been a trap." He gazed out the viewport at the stars beyond, as if he could see the battle playing out again in the starscape.

"Are you saying that Baltar . . . was already working for the Cylons _two yahrens_ before the Destruction?" Starbuck asked numbly. He remembered the murmuring of treason that followed the destruction of the Fifth Fleet. Recalled the disbelief, and the fear he had felt when he thought about all of those Colonial Warriors being sent to their slaughter. Finally, his rational mind had refused to believe it, sheltering him from the truth. After all, if it could happen to them, it could happen to him.

"I believe so. I'd always known that we'd been betrayed at Molecay," Cain told him. "It wasn't until I found out about the destruction of the Colonies, that I figured it had to have been Baltar. The Cylons wouldn't have planned an attack against the Colonies, without first testing Baltar's allegiance to them. I believe that Molecay was that test."

Cain turned away from him then, his body erect as he clenched his swagger stick in one hand. He almost seemed to tremble for a moment, then the stick crashed down on the table, as Cain unleashed some of his pent-up fury. He whirled on the young man, stepping towards him aggressively.

"Baltar _deserved_ the death penalty. Sagan sakes, he was responsible for the death of fifteen billion people! What kind of _justice_ is it that put him on the Prison Barge, where he didn't have to do so much as a hard day's work? Our people were still responsible for feeding him three meals a day, clothing him, and sheltering him! That isn't justice, it's a fracking farce!"

"Hey, I didn't write the laws either," Starbuck replied with a forced lightness, raising his hands in capitulation, but holding his ground as Cain breathed in his face. It was as though the _Pegasus'_ Commander expected him to justify the decision of the Supreme Tribunal simply because he had been a part of the Fleet at the time of sentencing. "Just remember that capital punishment was abolished over thirty yahrens ago for the average Colonial citizen. Coincidentally, the military—cozy little group that we are—retained it for treason and mutiny up until a few yahrens ago. So, according to Colonial jurisprudence, Baltar was given a life sentence with no chance of parole." Lords, when the Council had announced Baltar's surrender and then his sentence, Starbuck had heard it debated over and over until people went blue in the face. Several factions had demanded bringing back the death penalty, simply so justice could be done. Of course, others argued that since capital punishment was, in fact, abolished before Baltar's Tribunal, it still wouldn't apply to the traitor.

"It's a mockery of justice! The penalty should befit the crime!" Cain roared.

"It's the law," Starbuck replied grudgingly.

"But is it _justice_?"

Starbuck paused, considering that. Lords, when he had been taken prisoner on the Cylon Base Ship, he had personally informed Baltar that he would have traded his life in exchange for one good shot at the traitor. He had meant every word. But Colonial jurisdiction didn't extend to Cylon Base Ships . . .

"It was the will of the Tribunal," Starbuck returned noncommittally, though the mere thought of a Tribunal brought memories flooding back of his own incarceration. If it hadn't been for Apollo and Boomer's determination to prove his innocence, he was convinced that he would have been wrongly found guilty of Ortega's termination. So convinced, that he had almost launched himself into space, desperate to avoid a lifetime of immurement on the Prison Barge. No, Colonial justice wasn't without its faults. Still, it was in place for a reason . . .

"Do you really believe that, Starbuck, or is that Adama's rhetoric speaking through you?"

Starbuck swallowed reflexively as he considered the other. Fists clenched at his side, at Cain's insinuation. "I'm not a child, father. I can think for myself. This isn't about _me_ choosing sides between you and Commander Adama. Just like you, I swore an oath to obey our civil government. Now maybe you've been out in deep space so long that you've conveniently forgotten what that means, but I haven't. I've had it shoved down my throat repeatedly since the Destruction." The Council of Twelve. With the sole exception of Adama, at times it seemed as though the rest had signed up with the Imperious Leader to aide in the destruction of humanity. He probably offered them a better pension plan. And full dental coverage. Unlimited eyeglasses. "And yeah, maybe if it was up to me, I would have put a laser blast through Baltar's head, instead of sending him to the Prison Barge, but it _wasn't_ up to me!"

Cain put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it firmly. "What would you say if I told you it was now?"

Starbuck was sure he could feel his heart racing in his chest. "Wha . . . what do you mean?"

"I want you to take a Viper, and go down to that planet. Alone. If it _is_ Baltar down there, I want you to deal with him accordingly." Cain eyes bored into his.

"You want me to kill Baltar." A statement, not a question.

"I do."


	8. Chapter Seven

Starbuck's first instinct was to take his usual _Shikra_ down to the planet's surface, knowing that Baltar wouldn't recognize it. But he realized that Cain wanted the traitor to see the unmistakable Viper landing in the clearing, and to experience the fear that would undoubtedly be associated with it.

He took a deep breath as his fighter rolled to a stop. It just didn't feel right. In his heart, in his head—he knew it. He couldn't forget their parting words after the Commander had stressed that this was a strictly classified mission, and that he wasn't to breathe a word of it to anyone. Ever.

"Would you ask this of Sheba?"

His father hadn't like that. Cain had glared at him, his eyes narrowing. That defining line that had lately merged between father and commanding officer was back in place, as he snapped in reply, "Sheba isn't my _Strike Captain_."

Starbuck pulled off his flight helmet and waited as the canopy raised in its usual jerky manner. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he couldn't help but think that Adama would never order him to do this. But it had obviously been him raising points that Adama had long ago drilled into him about honour and duty, that caused Cain to react in this manner. It was as if Cain wanted or needed him to prove himself to his father. Choose definitively between Adama and Cain. This was a test. It was the only reason that he could come up with as to why Cain wouldn't choose to kill Baltar—the man he hated more than the entire Cylon nation—himself.

He ran his hands through his hair before climbing down to the ground. A light, warm breeze carried the sweet smell of a purple flower which blanketed the grassy clearing. It was picturesque in the extreme, and a sight that artists should be recording for posterity. He closed his eyes for a selfish moment, inhaling the intoxicating scent. Lord Sagan, it made him want to lie down among the flowers, losing himself in the knee-high growth. He could spend all day chewing on stalks of grass, and peering into the clouds that daintily dotted the blue sky.

The shrill cry of a bird as it flew low over the meadow on the hunt, drew him from his reverie. _You're hunting too, Bucko. Don't forget it._

He started across the clearing, doubting that he would find Baltar waiting for him at the camp. No, if he knew Baltar at all, the traitor would have fled into the nearby forest at the sight of the Viper. It should be relatively easy to catch up with the sedentary bureautician turned Cylon Base Star Commander. _Unless Commander Adama left him a hovermobile_.

The camp was neat and orderly with most supplies, especially edible ones, obviously packed away safely in the unmarked storage containers lined up behind the shelter. Not at all what Starbuck had expected. Somehow he had envisioned a camp half torn apart by wild animals because Baltar had left his supplies haphazardly lying around within easy reach. He glanced at the stream of burbling water running alongside the grassy slopes, forming a deep pool, before again continuing on its way. A shady tree, gnarled and twisted, wound its way from the bank of the stream to stretch out and over the inviting water. A collapsible chair sat beneath the sheltering shade. It was idyllic.

A growing resentment began to replace the heaviness in his chest and the churning in his gut, as he again looked around at this paradise. Baltar had to be having a good laugh at their expense as he sat sipping on cool, fresh water, while awaiting the arrival of his Cylon friends. Biding his time until he could sell his soul to the enemy once again, he was enjoying the wonders of nature until he could resume the hunting of his own people. And it was only a matter of time. Silver Spar Squadron had had a number of skirmishes with the Cylons lately, so it was inevitable that if the _Pegasus_ hadn't picked up Baltar's signal, that their enemy would have.

It only took a moment to find his tracks. Starbuck smirked as he spotted the obvious signs of where Baltar had crossed the stream and had then slipped several times as he clambered up the opposite bank. He moved downstream, to where it was more narrow, and nimbly jumped across. He easily ascended the bank, moving steadily in Baltar's direction on a parallel path.

Baltar was a survivor. Like the roachons reported to endure nuclear holocausts, Baltar would do whatever was necessary to live another day. Starbuck was cognizant of the fact that the traitor could have set up several traps along the way—if he had the initiative to act ahead of time—so he proceeded cautiously, knowing that in the end, he was the one holding the weapon. _Unless Commander Adama left him a Colonial blaster to protect himself._

It was much like being in combat. His every sense was attuned to his environment, but the difference was that, in essence, _he_ was the weapon. The harmonic sounds of nature—the breeze moving through the leaves, the avians singing in the trees, the crackle of the underbrush as he moved through it—seemed almost incongruous to the scene. He gradually picked up speed, wanting to put an end to this distasteful adventure.

Before too long, he could hear the sound of snapping twigs not far in the distance. He stopped, checking his scanner. He studied the topographical readout he had recorded on his flyby and then downloaded to his portable unit. He smiled grimly, knowing Baltar only really had one way to go since he seemed to be following a ridge. And he could easily cut him off if he headed cross-country. _Time for a little boonie bashing, pal._

Admittedly, the great outdoors had never held much in the way of an attraction to him. He had spent most of his time being raised in the larger city cores, where orphanages and enhanced child support systems were common. But the Colonial Force had thrown him into enough survival situations over four yahrens of training with the intent to build his character, stamina and aptitude, that this little foray into the wilderness was a snap—or at least it would have been if it wasn't for the fracking little pests that were buzzing around him, intent on making a meal out of him. So, when Baltar finally stumbled out of the brush, to see Starbuck sitting on a large rock, his weapon lazily dangling from his fingertips, the Strike Captain of the _Pegasus_ really just wanted to get it over with.

The look on the traitor's face was almost laughable. Baltar staggered to a halt, sweat dripping from his face as he stared at Starbuck in abject horror. Twigs and leaves littered his hair, a long cut oozed blood from his cheekbone, his clothes were torn, all from his mad dash through the forest. He dropped to his knees, quaking in fear, as he muttered disbelievingly, "You! It can't be! You're . . . you're _dead_." His last word was a mere whisper. He blinked his eyes several times, shaking his head when the apparition before him refused to disappear.

"Am I?" Starbuck smiled wryly. Well, at least, now he knew beyond a doubt what everyone in the Fleet thought had happened to him. "Then that's something we have in common." He raised his weapon.

"Wait!" Baltar screamed. "You can't just . . ." He wheezed as he struggled to catch his breath. ". . .just shoot me . . . in . . . in cccold blood." He raised his hands beseechingly.

Starbuck sniffed. "Wanna bet?" He sighted again, hesitating, not because of Baltar's words, but because he couldn't get over the feeling that he was somehow betraying Adama's trust. He clenched his teeth, reminding himself just who this man was and what he had done. And, that if he didn't shoot Baltar, that the piece of bovine mong would soon be picked up by another Cylon Base Ship, and would once again be pursuing the people he cared about.

"I _knew_ that Adama wouldn't keep his word . . ." Baltar breathed, but his features betrayed his astonishment at the turn of events.

Starbuck sighed, shaking his head slightly. Somehow he just couldn't let Adama take the blame for this. Not that it really mattered in the big picture, but still . . .

"I almost forgot. Commander Cain wanted me to tell you that he knows about Molecay."

"Cain?" His tone was low, and he looked at Starbuck more intently this time. "Yes . . . I see." His voice wavered with his intense emotions. "Then you are only . . . _a man_." His face lit up then, and he began to chuckle. "I thought _he_ had sent you to kill me! I haven't been forsaken after all!"

Starbuck stared incredulously at the man laughing before him, somehow knowing that 'he' _didn't_ refer to Commander Cain. _But then, who the frack . . .? _It suddenly hit him that Baltar could be insane. It was disturbing in the extreme. Long had he wondered how _any_ man could betray his entire race, as Baltar had, but not once had he considered that the man was a couple Viper squadrons short of a Battlestar. Until now.

"What?" Baltar asked him suddenly. "Why are you looking at me that way, Lieutenant?" Then Baltar's eyes narrowed and he craned his neck. "My mistake, _Captain_. I'm only surprised that the mighty Commander Cain isn't here himself to do the job, especially if he knows about my role at Molecay. Instead, he's assigned my execution to one of his . . ." He paused, his features twisting with pleasure that only he could understand. "One of his _Viper Jockeys_." He chuckled deep in his throat.

Just as quickly Baltar had reverted to the cocky maniac that had set himself atop a pedestal on a Cylon Base Ship. The same lunatic that made a guy want to pistol whip him something fierce before actually shooting him. _Insane, maniacal, lunatic—we seem to be developing a theme here, Bucko._ Now, shooting him seemed too easy a way out. Death in a split micron didn't seem appropriately gruesome for a man who had caused all the misery, suffering, and destruction that Baltar was responsible for.

"You seem uncharacteristically quiet, Starbuck. Could it be that you don't have the stomach for this after all?" Baltar taunted him.

"Actually, Baltar, I was just thinking that I should beat you to death with a rock instead of shooting you. Not only would I conserve the laser charge, but it would probably help with some of my unresolved anger issues from the Destruction." He couldn't help but smile as Baltar's grin slipped with the speed of Recon Viper One.

"But I've treated you _well_, Starbuck. Remember, I . . . I released you with a message of _peace_ over Kobol. It could have gone much differently for you." His voice was soft and persuasive.

"Yeah, you released me. About the same time as your squadrons attacked our troops on the surface."

"Against my orders!" Baltar insisted. His mouth gaped open and his breath caught in his throat before he cried, "What about when I helped Captain Apollo prove your innocence by identifying Charybdis, when you were accused of Ortega's termination?"

"You didn't exactly volunteer for that, as I remember it," Starbuck returned, wondering why he was even doing this. Why debate anything with a bureautician and a madman? To prolong the inevitable? His finger caressed the trigger.

Baltar looked at him intently, his voice low, almost derisive. "I _gave_ you that Cylon Base Star!"

"For a price . . ."

"Exactly." Baltar finished, a victorious smile flickering across his feature. "For a price. My freedom. Not _this_!"

"I'll put it on your epitaph, Baltar." Starbuck raised his weapon a final time . . .

"NO!"

. . . and fired.


	9. Chapter Eight

Starbuck raised his weapon . . .

"NO!"

And fired.

The laser blast seared into the middle of the traitor's chest at point-blank range. The scream choked to silence, and Baltar's eyes flew wide with terror and disbelief before they turned glassy. Almost in slow motion, his body slumped to the ground. Lifeless. Lifeless . . . He _should_ feel triumphant, relieved, and secure in the knowledge that justice was finally served. Humanity was safe from further unspeakable treachery, should the Cylons have found Baltar. Instead, he felt . . . a coldness that cut through his soul and beyond, an indefinable sensation that left him chilled to his very core . . .

With a start, Starbuck snapped his mind to the present.

Flying a routine two-person patrol seemed to be the only way he could find some solace, a little of himself. The old Starbuck. The fun-loving, gambling, drinking, carousing, fearless, hot shot pilot that had once swaggered around the corridors of the _Galactica_, delivering one-liners with the same alacrity as he did salvos to unsuspecting Cylon Raiders. Only in his cockpit did he seem to be able to rise above the murky depths of introspection and suspicion that had overtaken him of late. Until now, even the comfort of his cockpit could not vanquish the memories.

After the deed, he had stood for a long time just staring at the corpse, wondering what he should do next. Did a traitor like Baltar deserve a decent burial? Or was he exempt from the rules of common decency due to his war crimes? Finally, Starbuck had left him as carrion for the scavengers, not having the will to do anything else.

His memory of returning to the _Pegasus_ was a blur. At that point, he was simply going through the motions as he battled within to reconcile his actions. Killer or warrior? Where did one draw the line? Had he just crossed it? Did a direct order from his Commander justify that? If his Commander and his father hadn't been one and the same, would he have refused to comply? Or was he just going soft?

It had taken every bit of self-control that he had to then report directly to his Commander in the War Room. Colonel Tartarus was the only other person present, and he had vaguely wondered how the Dionian had found out about his _classified_ mission.

"Is it done?" Cain had asked curtly.

"Yes, sir." Starbuck had responded, his eyes straight ahead, his gaze on a spot over Cain's shoulder. He couldn't bring himself to meet his father's eyes.

"Congratulations, Captain." Tartarus had said, and then had smiled triumphantly between the two men before adding malignantly, "Thy will be done."

It was something in the Dionian's smile that triggered it. A flash of a distant memory of another Being. An image of a demonic creature striking down Apollo. It chilled Starbuck, shaking him to the core, even as he struggled to find the meaning in it. He knew it was one of those elusive memories he had been trying so desperately to grasp hold of since he had awakened over two sectars ago in the _Pegasus_' Life Station. And though he knew it had to be significant, it stubbornly and infuriatingly remained just beyond his reach, the details evading him. Even now.

Then Cain had systematically debriefed him, asking if Baltar had confessed his role at Molecay. His father's demeanour changed as the questioning continued, and the Juggernaut became aware of the emotionless, single syllable replies. The lack of eye contact. The strict military protocol. Then, with a measure of regret in his eyes, Cain had dismissed his Strike Captain.

Their relationship had reverted back to a purely professional one. Starbuck simply couldn't look upon his father without dwelling upon the execution. And each thought of Baltar's death and the affiliated memories and images of his debriefing, made him look with increasing interest towards Tartarus and the Dionians, as he tried to make sense of it all. For as near as he could figure, the weirdness that had become his life, had all started with the Dionians.

_But enough of that Bucko . . ._

" . . .anyhow, they're re-designing the Threat Indicator for our old Vipers." Elara prattled on, and this time Starbuck tried to concentrate on her words, rather than letting them become the backdrop for his own thoughts. "Chatan told me that he thinks that it's a waste of time, that we should just scrap them, but somehow, that just feels _wrong_. I can't really explain it, but, it's like . . . well, like they're _souvenirs_ from home."

"Souvenirs are usually little keepsakes we keep in the back of our lockers, Sergeant." He chuckled at the thought, then frowned as he realized he didn't have a single thing on the _Pegasus_ that would come under that category. "Not in the launch bay."

"Then you think we should scrap them too?" She sounded surprised, and a little disappointed.

"I didn't say that, I . . ." Then his ship abruptly rocked, and the space around him lit up with laser fire. "Frack!"

They appeared out of the asteroid field like wraiths in the night, protected from the _Shikra_s' probing scanners by the natural rock formations. He and Elara ran through every evasive manoeuvre in the book, and a couple from beyond the book, but the fighters remained on their tails. There were only two of them, and they were carrying two of the best pilots that Starbuck had ever seen

"I can't shake him, Starbuck!" Elara cried, her tone anxious.

"Break left! Hard!" Starbuck replied, breaking to the right.

He automatically cut thrust and jerked his control stick over, getting the maximum turn out of his _Shikra_, using her superior manoeuvrability, as he veered back in the direction of his attacker. One thing that he knew for sure, was nothing turned tighter than the Dionian fighter. Exactly as he predicted, the other ship overshot him, sending them on two different vectors, once again jockeying for position.

Starbuck increased thrust, keeping his stick hard over, looping around on a course that could potentially have him intercepting the fighter head-on. It all depended on the other pilot as to where that would be, and he was prepared for that. He activated his attack computer, needing to lock-on to identify the opposing ships. While part of him hoped they were Vipers, there was another part that wanted a real daggit-fight with a skilled opponent, and this guy had real potential.

"Captain, I'm in real trouble here!" Elara warned him.

_Frack._ "On my way, Sergeant."

His hit his turbos, changing course and heading for his wingmate. He smiled when he checked his scanner, realizing his course of interception would put him right on the tail of the ship pursuing her. And unless the guy had a more advanced scanner than the rest of them—or an incredibly astute wingman—he would never see Starbuck, concentrating his forward scans on Elara. He glanced at his attack computer watching the fighter come into range. Reducing power, his finger hovered over his lasers, just in case. The Goddess Fortuna was smiling upon him once again. Locked-on.

"Attention, this is Strike Captain Apollo of the Battlestar _Galactica_. I am locked-on kill, and ordering unidentified fighter, dead ahead, to surrender. Respond and identify!"

"Starbuck?" Elara asked uncertainly.

"Cut thrust, Elara! That's an order!" Starbuck immediately replied, switching to Unicom. "Hold fire. I repeat, hold fire! We surrender!"

"Apollo, he's right on your tail!" A split micron later, also on Unicom.

Boomer's voice, tense and warning. Starbuck didn't know whether to mong himself or celebrate. Instead, he cut thrust further, deactivating his attack sequence. "Hold fire!" he repeated, keeping in mind that Apollo and Boomer wouldn't know what they were up against, never having seen a _Shikra _before. Plus, the additional fact that he had just locked-on to the captain didn't exactly inspire confidence in an unknown aggressor.

"Identify!" Apollo's voice, equally tense.

"Apollo, it's Starbuck!" He replied, waiting for an answering whoop of joy . . . but it didn't come.

"Identify! I repeat, identify!" This time the captain sounded angry.

"This is Captain Starbuck of the Battlestar _Pegasus_." He tried again.

"That's . . . _impossible_." Boomer.

"Which part, the captain or the _Pegasus_?" Starbuck replied in a heartbeat. "C'mon guys, you know my voice. Do I have to start regaling Boomer with incriminating Academy stories, Apollo, so you'll believe me?"

"_Starbuck_?" Apollo's voice was wary. Suspicious.

"Ah, I thought that might do it." He grinned, a flutter of anticipation in his chest. "Too bad. I've been saving that one about the time we appropriated the Colonel's hovermobile to beat him back from town, when he spotted us out after curfew . . ."

"_Starbuck!"_

Now _that_ was the tone he had been expecting. Pure, unadulterated joy.

"We thought you were _dead_! How in Hades. . . ?"

Simultaneously, "What the _frack_ are you flying, Bucko?"

Starbuck chuckled, checking his instruments once again as another ship appeared on the edge of his scanner. And then another. Passenger class. "One at a time, guys. First, no I'm not dead, at least not that I'm aware of." Though lately, he had considered it, as he tried to piece together the strange sequence of events that had altered his life so completely. "How? I still haven't quite figured that out, but I'm open to suggestions. Next, this is a Dionian _Shikra_. And she's a dream. Hey, is that the Fleet I'm picking up?"

"Yeah, it is. What's a 'Dionian'?" Apollo asked.

Simultaneously, "How far away is the _Pegasus_?"

Starbuck laughed again. "Sagan sakes, it's good to hear your voices . . ." His last word choked off, and he let out a short breath, surprised by the depth of emotion he was abruptly experiencing. Typically, it felt more like Jolly was sitting on his chest, rather than anything that could be described as enjoyable.

"Captain? Are you okay?" Elara. Watching out for him as ever.

"Yeah, Sergeant. Just fine." If he could pick up the Fleet on his scanners, then the _Pegasus,_ with her longer reaching range, probably already had a fix on the _Galactica_. Not for the first time, since he had killed Baltar, he wondered if that was a good thing.

"C'mon, Starbuck. We're taking you home." Apollo told him, not allowing for discussion.

_Home._ It had a nice ring to it.

xxxxx

How many times had Starbuck imagined his return to the _Galactica_? Jumping down triumphantly from his _Shikra_, and embracing friends as his captain's pins shone brightly on his collar. Of course, brass instruments blowing in the background and confetti dropping from the landing bay rafters would have been a nice gesture too. Yeah, what the frack, he might as well aim high.

Of course, reality was different.

It hit him like some kind of force field, slamming into him as soon as his ship touched down. Taking his breath away, it left him shaken and disoriented. It was like a huge weight had been lifted from him. Or, that a single ray of sunshine was bathing him in a cleansing light. But, there was no logical reason for it. _Was there?_ He just sat there, as his domed canopy rose smoothly, basking in the strange sensation. He felt all tingly, like a man who had had a few too many ambrosas. Lords, when was the last time he had done that? It was kind of nice.

"Are you coming down from there?"

He pulled off his helmet and looked over the edge of his fighter, wondering how long he had been just sitting there, revelling in the sensation of being . . . home. A crowd had gathered, Apollo and Boomer standing foremost amongst them, waiting. Looking up at him, searchingly.

He shook the feelings off, and within microns he had scrambled down to the deck. Apollo stepped forward, smiling at him with that half-smile that he sometimes wore. That _not-so-sure_ _kind-of_ smile. "I . . ." It was a breath more than a word, sounding more like 'hi' than 'I', and was completely attributed to the tightening of Starbuck's chest, and the amphibian that had abruptly taken up residence in his throat. So, he tried again, clearing his throat first. "I . . . I wasn't sure if I'd ever see you guys again."

Apollo's face twisted, filling with an emotion that his friend affiliated with Zac or Serina . . . not _him_. Starbuck was pulled into an embrace that left him gasping for breath, not because it was too tight, but because it was emotionally overwhelming. At the same time his eyes welled with tears, and his knees trembled with weakness. He clung to the captain, not quite understanding why he'd been reduced to a quivering mess, but finally just surrendering to his need.

"I thought you were dead . . ." Apollo said throatily, finally pulling back and holding Starbuck at arm's length while shaking his head in disbelief. He tweaked a shiny new captain's pin with a slight smile, before gazing intently at his former wingman. "I don't understand. We couldn't find any sign of your ship other than the crash site. Nothing. It's a . . . a miracle."

"I doubt that, buddy." Starbuck replied, well aware that he was far from a miracle. "Maybe a _debacle_ . . ."

Apollo laughed then, his face crinkling in amusement at the terrible pun. He turned his head, grinning at Boomer, shaking his head wryly.

"I knew you'd be back for that twenty cubits I owe you." Boomer quipped, grabbing Starbuck by the arm and pulling him into another embrace.

"I wasn't letting you off that easily . . ." Starbuck returned by rote, patting him on the back heartily.

"Alive." Boomer muttered incredulously, gripping Starbuck by the back off the neck, and then patting his cheek with his other hand. "I _don't_ believe it."

"What's a guy gotta do . . .?" Starbuck laughed.

Then a long line of friends and acquaintances followed—Elara amongst them, grinning at him, letting him enjoy his moment—they hugged him, patting his back, gripping his forearm, offering words of encouragement or disbelief until he had somehow arrived at the decon chamber. His illustrious return halted abruptly by the regulations. He smiled ruefully, knowing he shouldn't be surprised by that.

"_Starbuck_ . . ."

He turned when he heard her voice, tentative and throaty. Her wide, blue eyes sparkled with unrepressed emotion. Her arms wrapped protectively around her slender body. It was almost too much. His control was already hanging by a thread. "Cass . . ."

Then she was in his arms, and he crushed her to him, closing his eyes tightly. He breathed in her scent, feeling his emotions wash over him, wave after wave. How could something so sweet feel so exquisitely painful?

He barely felt the hands that guided them gently into the decon chamber together. The light laughter was effectively cut off by the door sliding shut, enclosing them within. He opened his eyes to see Cassiopeia's blonde hair tinged red by the emitting rays of the chamber. She was gazing up at him, the tears in her eyes streaming down her cheeks unchecked. He wiped one away, smiling tenderly at her, realizing his own face was damp with tears.

"Missed you."

"They told me . . . you were dead," she whispered in reply, her voice shaky.

"I know." He agreed, not trusting his voice any further for the moment. He felt raw, like an exposed nerve-ending just waiting to be probed.

"_How_?" she asked, stroking her fingers down his cheek as she rested her other hand on his chest.

He took a moment, and a couple deep breaths to quell his labile emotions. "Cain found me." He touched her hair, gently pulling a strand through his fingertips, revelling in its softness. "The _Pegasus_."

"Thank God," she breathed.

"Somehow, I don't think so . . ."

She looked at him in bemusement, unsure of his words.

"Never mind." He smiled, shaking it off as a quip.

She studied him a moment before telling him, "I love you. You know that, don't you? Even if he's back, Cain and I were over a long time ago. I don't need to think about that this time around."

And that was good enough for him. Especially now. "I love you too." His lips brushed against hers, at first gently, searchingly, then more insistently. She pressed her body against him in return, her arms reaching around his neck, fingers raking through his hair.

It was almost as if she was breathing new life into him. Or as though he'd been half asleep and was finally waking up. He still couldn't explain it, any of it. Apollo, Boomer, Cassiopeia, the _Galactica_ herself. It just felt different. Right. Like being reborn. Revitalised.

And then the gollmonging door slid back open.


	10. Chapter Nine

"Welcome home, Hot Shot."

Sheba.

Starbuck drew in a quick breath. On the other side of the decon chamber's door was his sister. Half-sister, he reminded himself. He pasted on a quick smile as he stepped forward to greet her, releasing Cassiopeia from his embrace. That liberating lightness of being that he had briefly felt as the others welcomed him, abruptly disappeared, crushed beneath the deception he needed to maintain until Cain talked to his daughter about . . . her brother.

"Sheba." He stepped into the embrace she offered, hugging his sister tightly.His _sister_. Lords, he hoped she could find it in her heart to eventually forgive her father's transgressions and try to accept their new relationship. Then again, his new relationship with his father had pretty much crashed and burned, following Baltar's execution. _Yeah, just when you think that the cards are finally being dealt just the way you always wanted, someone else drops a capstone on the table_.

"How's my father?"

Sheba clung to his arms as she stepped back to await his answer. She was so elated at finally finding out for sure that Cain and the _Pegasus_ had survived, she was practically vibrating with excitement. He couldn't help but grin; her happiness was contagious.

"He's fine. The same."

She nodded eagerly, obviously awaiting more.

Apollo clapped him on the arm. "Walk and talk, Starbuck. The commander wants to see you."

"Right." He turned to Cassiopeia. "I'll catch up to you later. I promise."

"You'd better." Cassie replied, squeezing his hand as he turned to go. "I'll be on duty."

"I feel a headache coming on." He winked at her, reluctant to let her hand go.

"I might be able to help with that." She smiled coyly, tilting her head ever so slightly to the side, giving him a glimpse of creamy, white skin.

He drew a deep breath, licking his lips as he wished he could . . .

"Starbuck." Apollo urged him, as he and Sheba started towards the turbo lift.

"Coming." He nodded to them. Now Boomer was waiting as well, with an amused smile on his face. Starbuck leaned over, kissing Cassie softly. "Maybe later we can . . ."

"_Starbuck!_" All three in chorus.

"Maybe." Cassie giggled. "You'd better go though."

"Yeah, I'd better." He squeezed her hand a final time before jogging over to the lift to catch up with them. Even then his gaze wandered back to Cassie.

"She took it pretty hard, buddy." Boomer told him, as they stepped on the lift.

Starbuck looked at the three warriors in turn. They stared at him soberly. "Yeah," he murmured. Caught up in his own existence on the _Pegasus_, he realized that he hadn't really given much thought to what Cassie had gone through. Or his friends for that matter. So many Colonials had been touched by the war through the loss of friends and family, that it was almost a way of life. _Especially_ for a warrior.

Sheba smiled slightly, squeezing his arm, distracting him. "Tell me about my father."

"Well, I wouldn't be surprised if Cain's contacting the _Galactica_ as we speak, Sheba." Starbuck told her. "He'll want to touch base with Commander Adama, and find out if you're okay."

She chuckled at that. "Of course, I'm okay. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Hey, the last thing I remembered about you, was your ship being hit, and Apollo going to help you out during battle." Starbuck explained. "I wasn't sure . . ."

"I wasn't hit. It was some kind of electrical malfunction in my cockpit. It gave me a bit of a shock, but I regained control within a centon." Sheba explained. "Apollo still made me return to the _Galactica_ though." She looked disapprovingly at the captain.

"Yeah, I guess he would with your ship sparking up like a fireworks display during a Summer Solstice celebration." Starbuck nodded pointedly. "He's always been funny that way."

"Thank you." Apollo nodded gratefully at his friend for his support. He and Sheba had discussed that particular order to return to their base ship more than once, especially after the ground crew had handed him a diagnostic readout finding nothing wrong with her ship. He stepped forward, placing a hand on Starbuck's shoulder. "By the way, I never found out . . . was it _you_ who saved my tail from that pinwheel attack?"

"Yeah." Starbuck agreed softly. "They were on you like a lupus pack on a tenderized bovine. Almost like they _knew_ they had found our Strike Captain." He shrugged, and added. "Not on _my_ shift, buddy."

"Then _you_ got hit." Apollo surmised, his countenance turning entirely too serious again.

"He was obviously in my blind spot." Starbuck joked, not ready for another emotional scene just quite yet as the lift came to a stop.

"I don't know if you remember, Bucko, you were pretty out of it with the pain at the time, but I flew escort for you until we cleared the battle zone," Boomer told him.

Vaguely, did Starbuck remember someone repeatedly telling him to cut his speed, level out, and keep his nose up, as the pain in his body did its best to disable him. He barely controlled the involuntary shiver that seemed to envelop him, as he nodded at the lieutenant, not really seeing him through the agonizing memories.

Yeah, Boomer could tell from the other's reaction that his friend remembered. The dark-skinned lieutenant touched Starbuck's arm lightly, making sure he was still with him, before continuing, "I had a fix on where you should have gone down, Starbuck, but we had to take care of that Cylon attack force before we could even _think_ about a rescue party."

Those blue eyes were back on Boomer, gazing at him intently now. Reading him like a marked deck of cards. "I guess I was counting on that luck of yours to get you through," Boomer added.

It was one of the hardest things Boomer had ever done, leaving his buddy behind. The audible moans of pain interspersed with gurgling, gasping breaths as Starbuck had fought to maintain control of his damaged ship, was enough to bring tears to his eyes. He had felt so fracking useless . . .

Starbuck could sense the obvious guilt and regret that his friend was feeling. "Hey, we all know how it works, Boomer. You and I _have_ done this before." That bog of a planet, Attila, came to mind.

Boomer nodded, knowing exactly which incident he was referring to. "Yeah, but you . . ."

"But nothing. It's not like you can cram an injured pilot into your Viper and take him back to the Life Station on your lap."

"I know, it's just that . . ."

"No regrets, Boomer. You live your life otherwise, and you'll drive yourself crazy. There are certain rules we have to play by for a reason." Starbuck cut him off, immediately wondering if he could find any relevance in that to his own situation and the constant doubts and self-recriminations he had experienced since shooting Baltar. _Let it go, Bucko_. _What's done is done_.

"Besides, Starbuck _made it_." Sheba added pointedly. "I don't know how, but he made it."

"When we finally arrived with the shuttle, Starbuck, all we could find were signs of a recent crash. Not a trace of your ship." He could see Starbuck was about to interrupt to ask the obvious question. "No life forms." Apollo told him thoughtfully. He had personally scoured the planetoid, as well as a nearby planet, looking for any sign of his wingman. There had been nothing. It had been maddening, trying to come up with some logical theory, some reasonable explanation as to where his best friend had vanished to. The worst part was not knowing and not understanding what had happened. And feeling as though he had utterly failed Starbuck in some way.

"That's interesting," Starbuck mused. "Flight Sergeant Elara told me that when they found me parsecs away from where I knew I went down, there were no signs of my landing. Just me and my Viper."

"That's _impossible_." Sheba shook her head, her brow furrowed.

"Obviously not." Boomer inserted, nodding at Starbuck.

"Then how do you explain it?" Sheba asked.

"Space anomaly?"

"C'mon, Boomer." Sheba frowned. "That's everybody's explanation for the inexplicable."

"Only on late night IFB." Starbuck grinned. "Besides, space anomalies aren't generally found on the _surface_. I distinctly remember landing."

"You mean crashing." Boomer retorted.

"_Landing._ I didn't exactly walk away, but here I am, in one piece . . . more or less." Starbuck replied with a fleeting smile.

Apollo squeezed his friend's shoulder, hoping he'd soon have a chance to hear the whole story. "Starbuck has a narrow definition for 'crashing'. Something about death and destruction, the way I remember it."

"What about '_crash_ landings'?" Sheba asked.

"Don't challenge my misconceptions, Sheba." Starbuck frowned. "Or if you feel you have to, at least buy me a drink first."

"Sorry. I guess I figured with that lofty promotion of yours, you could handle it." She teased him, touching one of his new collar pins as they walked down the corridor. "So, _Captain_ Starbuck . . ." She started to giggle. "That just sounds . . . _wrong_." She shared a laugh with Boomer, who obviously agreed.

"Thanks for your support." Starbuck told them sarcastically, the twinkle in his eye and the smile lingering on his lips, belying his own amusement. Strangely, it was only good friends who would laugh in your face about something as important as a promotion.

"Seriously, Captain Starbuck, how do you explain it?" Sheba asked with a barely contained smirk.

"That's Strike Captain, by the way, Lieutenant. And I have some ideas . . . a few suspicions, but nothing really tangible. You'll probably all think I still have a head injury."

"I've thought that for yahrens," Boomer quipped.

"A fall from his crib, I've heard." Apollo added with a grin.

"_Strike_ Captain?" Sheba stopped in her tracks, gaping at him.

"Uh huh," Starbuck nodded, hesitating beside her. He glanced at Apollo and Boomer, giving them a dedicated scowl for their half-witty retorts, as they paused ahead of him.

"The _Pegasus_ hasn't had a Strike Captain since we lost Zoltan at Molecay." She seemed almost adamant. As if that explained her surprise.

"Then I guess it's overdue." Starbuck replied offhandedly. He regretted it as soon as Sheba's features darkened. "What? What did I say?"

"Zoltan was very close to . . . my father. Like a son."

"Oh." Starbuck replied softly, his keen eyes noticing a flood of emotions crossing Sheba's face as she raised her chin slightly and frowned. She seemed determined to avoid Apollo's eye, though the _Galactica_'s strike captain looked at her searchingly. Starbuck suspected that Zoltan was also very close to _Sheba_. "Zoltan was a good man."

"You _knew_ him?" Sheba glanced at him in surprise.

"Yeah. He was my squadron leader at the Academy." Starbuck would never forget the young man that had taken a chance on a hot-headed cadet who had shown some promise, and had placed him in the most elite squadron at the Academy.

"And mine." Apollo added, motioning them forward again. "He was a great leader even then. I learned a lot from him." He glanced at Starbuck tagging behind, recalling his first impressions of the wild second-yahren cadet and his initial disbelief that Zoltan thought he belonged in Phoenix Squadron. Somehow Zoltan had seen beyond Starbuck's less desirable characteristics to the potential within, and had known how to cultivate and harness a talent and energy that had transformed his friend into one of the best Viper pilots and Colonial Warriors that he had ever seen.

"We all did." Starbuck agreed. Zoltan had pulled him into his fold, introducing him to trust, respect, loyalty and friendship at a time when he hadn't had much positive experience with any of those.

"So Cain never replaced Zoltan until he found Starbuck?" Boomer clarified.

"You have to remember, we had a relatively small complement of pilots after Molecay. We rotated, taking turns as Group Leader, based on necessity. Most of us thought that my father was still trying to decide who was the best candidate for the position. Later we realized that he had taken over the duties of Strike Commander himself, tightening the reins of command, rather than expanding them." Sheba expounded before looking at Starbuck again. "So why did he make you Strike Captain now?"

"I think you'd better ask your father that, Sheba." Starbuck replied. "He _told_ me it had to do with me being the sole Colonial officer among a group of noncoms and Dionians, and that he wasn't happy with the job the Dionian lieutenant was doing at the time. The squadron was fractured, to say the least, when I took over." That really was more the indication as to why Cain had put him in charge to begin with, as a lieutenant, but Sheba didn't know that. And while Starbuck had made incredible progress getting Silver Spar Squadron to perform as a cohesive force to be reckoned with, he now suspected that that actually had little to do with his momentous promotion. It was his bloodline.

"And now?" Sheba asked, curious as to how things had progressed.

"Tighter than an Otori . . ."

"Starbuck!" Apollo cut him off with a sidelong look at Sheba. Though it wasn't exactly common knowledge that the Gemonese Sect only practiced physical contact between the sexes every seven yahrens, when sanctified by their priests during High Worship of the Sunstorm, he had a feeling that from the sudden rush of colour on Sheba's cheeks that she_ had _heard of the ritual.

The _Pegasus_ Strike Captain grinned wickedly. "_Hatband_. I was going to say, 'hatband'."

"_Sure_ you were," Boomer scoffed with a chuckle. "The Otori Sect—universally renowned for their wearing of hats."

Starbuck shrugged, "Admittedly, a _lesser_ known ritual."

"Only practiced every five or so yahrens." Apollo added with a smile as they neared his father's quarters.

"There!" Starbuck said to Boomer triumphantly, raising a finger. "Apollo's heard of it."

"Then it _must_ be true." Boomer said doubtfully, rolling his eyes, and hitting the entry chime as they slowed to a halt.

"Enter!"

Apollo and Boomer pushed Starbuck forward as the door slid open. He smiled, stepping forward, eager to see Commander Adama. Lords, there was so much to tell him, to ask him, to pick his brain about. He'd longed for this moment for sectars. But . . .

Adama stepped forward to meet him, his smile hesitant, his mien uncertain. "Starbuck . . . thank the . . ." He shook his head in bemusement, gripping the young man's forearm formally. "I understand from Commander Cain that congratulations are in order, Captain."

For a moment Adama's eyes seemed to probe his, looking for something that he didn't understand. Apollo's father had an intuitiveness that Starbuck had always found intimidating, as though he could see straight through to your soul at will. He wondered briefly if the Commander could see the betrayal that he felt for killing Baltar, in direct opposition to Adama's wishes. "Thank you, sir." Starbuck nodded, finding it difficult to hold the penetrating gaze. "Then Commander Cain's . . .?"

"Yes, we just spoke." Adama glanced towards his monitor, a fleeting frown soon replaced by a hesitant smile once again. "How are you? I hear you've done quite a job on the _Pegasus_. I also understand that we almost lost you." He stepped back and looked the warrior over critically.

"Well . . ."

"Good, good. Now I hate to rush you on your way, but Cain ordered you back to the _Pegasus_ as soon as possible. Seems that some internal problem has come up that he wants you to deal with."

"Internal . . .?" Starbuck shook his head in confusion. "But, I just . . ."

"I know. Cain wants to see you before he shuttles over to the _Galactica_, so I'm afraid that time is of an essence, Captain."

"Father . . ." Apollo began to object, stepping forward.

Adama laid a restraining hand on his son's shoulder. "Later, Apollo." He pointedly kept the hand in place. "Boomer, why don't you and Sheba escort the Captain back to his fighter. I'm sure he'd enjoy the company." He smiled again, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.

The behavior reminded Starbuck of Adama's dealings with the over-amorous Siress Belloby. For a man of the bureaucratic arena, he was terrible at misrepresenting himself. A cold chill infused him when he realized that he was on the receiving end of the half-hearted, insincere banter. Surely, he had misunderstood. "Sir?"

"Dismissed, Captain." Adama added with a note of finality.

"Yes, sir." Still, he hesitated, until Boomer's hand was on his arm, drawing him towards the door. He glanced back at Apollo, realizing he had to look as lost as he felt.

Adama kept his hand on his son's shoulder as he watched the other three leave, waiting for the door to slide shut.

"What was that all about?" Apollo demanded, pulling back from his father's touch. "He thought . . . we _all_ thought that this was a debriefing of sorts. That we were going to find out what had happened to Starbuck over the last three sectars." Now the precious time they had spent shooting the breeze idly on the way, seemed like time wasted. "You treated him like . . ."

"Apollo!" His tone effectively cut off the rebuke. "There's something strange happening on the _Pegasus_. I wish I could elaborate on that, but I didn't have much time to speak to Cain in confidence."

Apollo jaw clenched, remembering Starbuck's confusion and clear disappointment. He nodded reluctantly, waiting for his father to continue.

"Cain told me that when they found Starbuck, the boy was a charred monstrosity. His Viper had caught fire and he'd been trapped within." He held his son's eyes. "For some time."

Apollo recoiled, turning away.

Adama watched for a moment as Apollo's shoulders rose and fell, as he took deep steadying breaths. The Commander hesitantly placed a hand on the young man's shoulder, knowing the pain Apollo had to be feeling as he imagined his friend's suffering. "By all accounts, Apollo, he should have been dead."

"_Should_ have been." Apollo repeated numbly. "Then how . . .?"

"These _Dionians_ seemed to have somehow . . . brought him back from the dead. Healed him."

"But that's_ impossible_." Apollo turned back to his father, shaking his head.

"Didn't Sheba and Starbuck once tell me how they carried your . . . body . . ." Just saying it was painful as Adama imagined losing another son. "That you had been . . . dead, after challenging Count Iblis."

"The Ship of Lights." Apollo nodded. So many of those memories had come back when they had again encountered those mystical Beings on Terra. "Are you saying that these Dionians have something to do with the Ship of Lights?"

"I'm not sure. I need to hear more of what Cain has to say. But . . . he wonders if Starbuck is truly the man we believe him to be."

"What else could he be?" Apollo asked.

"A creation of light . . . or darkness."


	11. Chapter Ten

Lords, it was like being drilled in the gut with a triad ball, compliments of Commander Adama. Starbuck shook his head in bewilderment, listening to the door sliding shut behind him. It was symbolic somehow, as effective as any old-fashioned door slamming in his face. He had been effectively and decidedly dissociated from the _Galactica_ by his former commander. Set apart and thrust back into his new life on the _Pegasus_. Alone. Not even an explanation. He shook off Boomer's hand. His friend was looking at him in concern, his mouth opening to say something, probably reassuring in nature, but completely meaningless at this point. He didn't even want to hear it.

"Save it." Starbuck muttered as he pushed past his friends and briskly headed down the corridor.

He had convinced himself long ago that Adama—like a touchstone—could finally help him make sense of everything that had happened to him since he had been shot down sectars ago. Adama, with his infinite wisdom, would have words of comfort and reassurance for him, dispelling his terrifying theories of late that the Dionians had brought him back from the edge of death to manipulate him into some unknown, malignant end. He pounded the control for the turbo lift, then closed his eyes, taking deep breaths, as an ominous cloud of despair threatened to crush him.

"Starbuck . . ."

A hand tentatively settled on his shoulder. Sheba's. He could sense the wheels turning as she desperately tried to find the appropriate words. It would almost be amusing to see if she could come up with something. Almost.

"I don't remember thisdamnthing taking so frackin' long." Starbuck slammed the control again. He needed to get away from their feeble attempts to console him. They didn't understand. They couldn't.

"Hey, there _has_ to be a reason . . ." Boomer told him in his usual calm approach, grabbing Starbuck's wrist as he threatened to pound the controls again.

"Yeah." Starbuck pulled free again, running his hand back through his hair before turning back to the lift. He sniffed derisively before replying, "_That's_what I'm afraid of."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Boomer asked as the lift doors opened. Starbuck was inside and looking at them impatiently, ready to start abusing a new set of controls all over again.

"Are you coming?" Starbuck asked. "I had the idea you were supposed to escort me safely to my _Shikra_, and off the _Galactica_ ASAP. You don't want to let the Commander down." He couldn't withhold the bitterness that dripped off of every word.

Sheba looked at him uncertainly, as though she was thinking that she hadn't signed on for this. A little bit of effectively utilized sarcasm usually scared off the bravest of friends. Boomer, on the other hand, refused to be deterred, brushing him aside and manning the controls himself. Apparently, his buddy had a problem with the way he selected levels on his Battlestar.

"Launch Bay Alpha, warp speed, all aboard!" Boomer quipped, looking at Sheba expectantly. She hesitated a moment before raising her chin and joining them.

The tension hung around them, as thick as melted mushies. Boomer knew that more than anything, Starbuck needed a few centons to calm down and think. Not his friend's forte, admittedly. However . . .

"Not exactly the homecoming you were hoping for, I'll bet." Boomer murmured out of a necessity to break the silence and acknowledge Starbuck's obvious disappointment. He glanced back at the _Pegasus_ strike captain who had placed himself in the back corner, setting himself apart from them.

Starbuck sniffed quietly, shaking his head in response, not meeting Boomer's eyes. He sighed as the lift came to a stop. They stood there expectantly like a wall before him, waiting for something that he wasn't prepared to offer. At least not right now. He shrugged apologetically, and walked between them, moving directly for his fighter, giving it a cursory walk-around before heading for the cockpit.

"What's it called again?" Boomer asked, as Starbuck climbed up into the Dionian Fighter. He had dispensed with most of his pre-flight checks, a sure sign he was upset.

"A _Shikra_." Starbuck replied half-heartedly. "It's some kind of Dionian avian. We have eighty of them on the _Pegasus_, and only fifty-six pilots. I think we could send a group of them over here . . . as long as Tartarus doesn't object. I'll talk to Apollo about it." When he had last discussed manpower with Cain, the Juggernaut had no plans of reclaiming any of his former pilots to even out the forces between the two Battlestars. Starbuck had agreed, but perhaps for different reasons.

"Tartarus?" Sheba asked, as Starbuck climbed in and reached for his helmet.

"Colonel Tartarus." Starbuck nodded. "He's the Dionian leader."

"_Leader_?" Boomer asked curiously.

"Surely, that role is my father's?" Sheba offered a little indignantly, her brow furrowed.

"Don't count on that." Starbuck shrugged. "I really think that their first allegiance is to Tartarus. He was their military leader long before the _Pegasus_showed up. He took a demotion to become Cain's executive officer. It was some kind of deal that they worked out whereby the Dionians and their fighters joined the _Pegasus_after helping refit it, and in return got an opportunity for revenge against the Cylons for destroying their homeworld. As far as their loyalties lie, we're a distant second. At least that's how _I_ see it." He gave a thumb's up to Flight Sergeant Elara as she waited for him in her own _Shikra_. Undoubtedly, she had had a brief chance to reunite with a few old friends as well, before he had summoned her to Alpha Bay.

"Lords, Starbuck, these are the people that you're fighting alongside. How can you trust them?" Boomer asked.

"Trust them? I chose Elara as my wingman, in case you hadn't noticed." He frowned as Boomer hung over the side of his ship looking at him searchingly, not understanding what he was trying to say." He sighed. "Honestly, they're good pilots and haven't really given me any reason _not_ to trust them. Especially in combat. I don't want to give you the wrong idea, it's just that . . ." From the time he had first met Aeisha and the others, their people had seemed to conform, adjusting their initial licentious behavior accordingly until he found them acceptable, and then appropriate. And, ironically, even _that_didn't sit well with him. An entire crew of Dionians adapting to his requirements and moods as time moved on. It didn't make sense. But how did he explain that to his friends without sounding crazy . . . or egocentric. _Don't forget paranoid, Bucko._ "I don't know how to explain it, Boomer. I just don't know."

"Starbuck, how about I come over to the _Pegasus_ with you?" Sheba suddenly suggested, also scaling his ship on the other side. "It would only take me a few centons. There's a Viper ready to go and I could catch up with a few old friends as well as . . ."

"No!" He hadn't meant for it to come out as sharp as it did, but instinctively he knew he needed to keep Sheba away from the _Pegasus_. Boomer looked at him in concern. Sheba in surprise. "I . . . uh . . . look, Sheba, your father will be over soon and expects to see you _here_. Part of the honorary welcome in the landing bay. Besides, I don't know what this 'internal matter' is. I'd rather you not get involved if something . . ." He was tempted to say 'evil', but he didn't know where that came from. He searched for a less alarming, more appropriate word, but couldn't seem to find one. In the end he shook his head mutely and shrugged dramatically, not understanding his jumbled thoughts and emotions, and certainly not being able to share them. He pulled on his helmet to cover his own discomposure.

"I think you could use a friend right now." Sheba replied cautiously. She tentatively put a hand on his arm, watching as he stared straight ahead, digesting her words, hiding his feelings.

"Or two." Boomer added. "Frankly, Starbuck, I'd like to know more about what's going on."

"You and me both, buddy." Starbuck replied in a low voice, before looking at his friends. "But now's not the time. I'll try to get back later, once I sort out this 'matter' . . . whatever the frack it is. We'll talk then. Could you tell Cassiopeia I needed to head back?"

"Of course." Boomer replied reluctantly. He had an uneasy feeling about all of this. Mostly he felt bad for Starbuck; one moment, on top of the world with happiness as he caught up with old friends, and the next, exiled back to the _Pegasus_ by his former Commander. "Take care of yourself, buddy."

"Lords, Boomer, I'll probably see you in a couple centars." Starbuck replied with a chuckle and his trademark grin as he began readying his fighter. "You make it sound like I'm going on some kind of one-way mission."

"And we all know, he doesn't take one-way missions," Sheba retorted with a smile, recalling his words to her sectars ago as their landing party prepared to leave for Gamoray.

"Give a prize to the pretty lady hanging off my fighter." Starbuck winked at her. "Besides, there's a vintage ambrosa in the Officer's Club with my name on it."

"Is it in a bottle or a glass?" Sheba asked, her concern overshadowing her light-hearted remark as she tried to maintain the banter for Starbuck's sake. He smiled at her in return, and then uncharacteristically squeezed her hand. She returned the gentle pressure, not understanding what she was reading in his penetrating glance.

"A keg, I think." He replied finally, as she drew back and his canopy lowered into place. He nodded at them as they both patted the canopy in farewell before backing up from the _Shikra_.

Sheba sighed while she moved to join Boomer as they watched him launch. "That was just weird. From the moment we entered Commander Adama's quarters until Starbuck left. I don't know what to think. I get the idea he was hoping to talk to the Commander about what's happening, but Adama sent him away. What in Hades hole is going on, Boomer?"

Boomer let out a deep breath, wishing, as he had more than once, that he could have gone along with Starbuck. "I have a feeling that we're going to find out soon."

xxxxx

Cain didn't quite know what to expect from his Strike Captain when the canopy of the _Shikra_ rose in the landing bay. The Commander scaled the fighter with all the agility of a man many yahrens his junior, until he was face to face with Starbuck. His son's hauntingly familiar blue eyes—almost identical to his mother's—settled on him with first surprise, and then barely concealed anger and resentment

"Listen. We don't have much time." Cain told him quietly. "I need you here on the _Pegasus_ while I'm on the _Galactica_. I've told Tartarus that you're going to be brushing up on your command skills on the Bridge. He didn't like it, but he knows that he's only to issue orders if somehow you're unable to, or don't know what to do." That effectively put Starbuck in charge, while necessitating Tartarus be there for back-up. A routine part of the Bridge training for his _Pegasus_ officers, and one he knew that Starbuck found particularly distasteful. Of course, the timing was unusual, but effective for his purposes.

"What are you up to?" Starbuck asked, his brow furrowing in consternation. "And why did you order my astrum back here so quickly?"

"You might be my son, but I still demand you treat me with due respect, Captain." Cain growled.

"Then tell me what the frack is going on . . . _sir_." Starbuck returned through gritted teeth. "What did you say to Commander Adama?"

Cain sighed, looking at the young man whose stark anger had faded to uncertainty and betrayal in the space of a few microns. Sagan sakes, the truth was he wished he could just come clean with Starbuck, but since the whole Baltar incident, the boy had shut him out completely. Tartarus had been trying his concerted best ever since to give Cain reason to lose confidence in his son. He realized to a certain extent that it had worked. The trouble was that any effect that Tartarus had on him, made him rethink the result. Over and over again.

"I need you in charge, son. I'm not leaving my ship in Tartarus' hands. And I _don't_ want him on the _Galactica_." Cain told him with a sincerity he hoped the other could recognize. He searched Starbuck's eyes for any sign of maliciousness or triumph, but found only resignation and confusion in their depths. He had always considered himself a good judge of character, and if his gut feeling was right, he could depend on the young man. Still, that sense of uncertainty about how Starbuck had ended up so far from the _Galactica_ after crashing, and that mystery as to how and why the Dionians had brought him back to life . . . Was Starbuck being somehow manipulated by the Dionians? Was _he_? Lords of Kobol, he needed to talk to Adama.

Starbuck nodded slowly. It was the most sensible thing Cain had said for sectons. "All right. You know, we touched on some of this a sectar or two ago, and _you_ thought I'd been sniffing Viper vapours. That's part of the reason that_I_wanted to talk to Commander Adama, but he ended up treating me more like a . . . a stranger, before he had me escorted directly back to the launch bay." If it had been someone besides Boomer and Sheba, he would have felt humiliated. As it was, he had still been crestfallen.

"That's my fault. Tartarus walked in after I had telecommed Adama. I wanted him to believe that he had me convinced that I couldn't trust you." Cain assured him. "I think he'll try and play us off against one another. If he does, play along."

"You think he's after command of the _Pegasus_?"

"I'm not sure. But that's why I couldn't risk taking care of Baltar myself. I didn't want to leave Tartarus in command."

Starbuck dropped his gaze for a moment before nodding. "Well, I hope you set things straight with Commander Adama. I have a lot of respect for that man, and I don't want him thinking that I'm some kind of barge louse. I want some answers when you get back."

"Who's giving the orders here?" Cain growled, his lips quirking as the younger man winced and remembered himself. "I hope I have some answers to give you, Starbuck," he replied as he climbed down, awaiting his Strike Captain.

Starbuck jumped down beside his father within microns. "Are you going to talk to Sheba?"

"About you?" Cain nodded. "I will. I don't know how she'll take the news. Her and her mother were very close. It might not be pretty."

"I'd rather she found out from you, than from a rumour circulating around the ship. Everyone on the_Pegasus_knows the truth. It's bound to get out."

"I know. I'll take care of it. Just be prepared the next time you see her." Cain told him. He laid a hand on Starbuck's shoulder. "Take care of my ship, Captain."

"Yes, sir."

xxxxx

Adama couldn't help but think that for the second time in several sectars, Cain had returned from the dead . . . both times, bringing Starbuck with him. So he was almost surprised when the lieutenant . . . make that, strike captain, _didn't_ follow the Juggernaut off the shuttle. Then again, he had the distinct impression that Cain wanted Starbuck kept away from the _Galactica_. That the _Pegasus_ Commander was concerned about the effect his strike captain might have on Adama's crew. It was a chilling thought, and one that Adama was having trouble reconciling.

"Adama," Cain gripped his forearm fiercely after he strode past the honour guard. "The _Galactica_ has a few new scars, my old friend."

"And the _Pegasus_ as well, I can well imagine, Cain," Adama smiled, returning the grasp. He stood aside to where Lieutenant Sheba waited anxiously.

Cain's face lit up tenderly. "Sheba."

Sheba stepped into his open arms, holding tightly to her father, smiling at his whispered, "Baby". As Starbuck had said, he looked the same. The same strength, confidence and undeniable presence that she had known her entire life. She blinked back tears, refusing to let them fall in front of him. "I know you need to speak with Commander Adama, but I was hoping we could have some time afterwards . . ."

"Of course." Cain returned. "We have a lot of catching up to do, and . . . I need to speak to you about something."

"Starbuck?"

It took Cain aback. "Yes, but . . ."

"I already know you made him Strike Captain."

"Ah, I see." Cain nodded. After the close relationship she had shared with Zoltan, it wasn't a surprise that she would be shocked that he had finally appointed a new strike captain. In some ways, he realized that Starbuck being his son had influenced that decision. Then again, in the recesses of his memories, he was well aware that Tartarus had subtly suggested Starbuck's promotion days before Cain had made that decision. Again, the implied subtle manipulation didn't sit well with him. "Starbuck deserved that promotion, Sheba. He's worked miracles with Silver Spar Squadron."

"Starbuck's a good officer." Sheba nodded, then the glimmer of a smile appeared. "I'm not sure about a _miracle worker_, but he's a good officer."

"Yes, well, you might feel differently if you knew what he was up against." He shook his head at his memory of the unruly squadron that refused to cooperate until Starbuck, an outsider, had entered the picture. Commonly utilized in command structure before the Destruction, finding an officer from outside the _Pegasus_ who could act impartially had been a pipedream at the time the Dionians had joined the crew. Again, Cain couldn't help but wonder how Starbuck had coincidentally arrived at the perfect time to help solve his command problems and boost his personal morale . . . He glanced towards Adama with a frown, hoping his old friend could offer some answers.

Beneath the usual Cain guise, Adama could sense the underlying unease. Something he had never before detected in the unflappable Commander Cain. "We have much to discuss, Cain. Shall we?" He motioned towards the turbo lift.

Cain nodded and waited for his compatriot to precede him. More disconcerting than anything else, he was getting an inexplicable sense that they were running out of time.


	12. Chapter Eleven

For a man who might or might not be planning something that remotely resembled commandeering the _Pegasus_, Tartarus looked strangely relaxed and unconcerned. He strolled languidly around the Bridge, taking very little interest in what was actually happening, and happily deferring all questions and decisions to Starbuck, as had been Cain's order.

Realistically, if it was the _Pegasus_ that Tartarus was after, it would make much more sense to seize her from under Cain's nose far from the support of the _Galactica_. Then there was the fact that since the mostly Colonial crew far outnumbered the Dionians, Tartarus would need to effectively disable the Colonials—and most likely terminate the senior officers—to pull off a successful mutiny. Especially since the Dionian leader clearly didn't have enough of his own people to operate the massive Battlestar . . .unless there was another force of Dionians out there in space somewhere waiting to join forces.

No, something just didn't feel right about their suspicions. But what, then, was Tartarus after, if not the _Pegasus_? Something that the _Pegasus_ or her crew could provide him? He had said it was all about revenge, after all.

And what part was Starbuck supposed to play in this? He had gone over it all so many times in his mind, he was beginning to feel like a daggit chasing his tail. But at least now, Cain was discussing it all with Commander Adama. Starbuck had to believe that his former commanding officer would have some useful insight into what was happening.

The _Pegasus_ strike captain let out a deep breath. Most importantly, he had reached a decision. Even if he _had_ been brought back from the edge of death—or beyond—he was still his own man. Every choice he had made since then was his own; every consequence was his to live with. So it would be until the end. Strangely, just recognizing that truth was comforting in the face of uncertainty and adversity.

"A man so deep in thought couldn't possibly be paying attention to all around him," Tartarus murmured in Starbuck's ear.

Starbuck resisted the urge to shudder as the low voice penetrated his personal space obtrusively. Tartarus whispering intimately in his ear. He reflexively took a step away from the Colonel before turning.

"I'm always paying attention, Colonel," Starbuck replied. "That's what's kept me alive this long."

"Ah, but that obviously failed you some sectars ago," Tartarus returned benignly.

"Yet, here I stand," Starbuck shrugged.

"And why do you think that is, Captain?" Tartarus asked, a glint in his violet eyes.

"Clean living," Starbuck grinned. He turned up the wavelons on his smile when the other scowled.

"You think you were spared for a . . . a higher cause?" Tartarus asked, carefully composing his clone-like features.

"Or maybe a lower one. I've never been quite sure how that whole 'cause' scale works."

"You make light of it easily enough," Tartarus commented with a frown. "Why is it that your people often mock what they do not understand?"

Starbuck shrugged. "Hey, if you have a detailed outline, I'd love to see it. We could plot a graph, put me on it, and clear the entire mess up."

Tartarus sniffed. "You come closer to the truth than you realize. The fates have already decided the outcome."

"I doubt that."

Tartarus raised his eyebrows. "You don't believe in destiny? Even after all you've been through?" His eyes narrowed.

"I believe that I'm steering my own ship. Always have. Always will." He felt strangely calm, even with the other challenging him. It was much like the sensation he felt as he began combat. The initial anticipation receded into acceptance. He embraced his fear, his uncertainty, and his nervousness. What was left was a heightened sense of awareness, and confidence.

"Then you are naïve."

"Or you're mistaken," Starbuck returned .

"Interesting perception."

"Isn't it."

"My own is different."

"I kind of thought it might be," Starbuck muttered.

"You are but a cog in the primitive wheel of life, Starbuck."

"Well, if that's true, then so are you." But the scepticism was plainly written on the warrior's face about his own place on that wheel.

Tartarus chuckled. "I would think it would ease your mortal mind to know that life was pre-scripted."

"My _mortal_ mind. Interesting distinction. Are you sure about that? My _supposed_ mortality. After all, I've survived death once. Maybe I can do it again." A smile played on his features as he mused the absurd idea. _Yeah, Bucko, you're definitely in the zone._

"I'm sure you could. You only have to follow the correct path to your own salvation," Tartarus returned.

Suddenly, it seemed clear. Chillingly clear. "_Your_ path?"

"Correct."

"And what's lies down the _other_path?"

"I think you know."

The flashback hit him like a lightening bolt. Excruciating pain. Fear. The smell of charring flesh. His own. Just as abruptly, it was gone again. He was left shaken, starring into violet orbs of lifeless oblivion.

"_Now_, you understand."

xxxxx

It was a new experience for Cain. Meeting up with a fellow warrior of Adama's standing, and for the first time, instead of regaling him with stories of legendary cunning, strategy, and victory, he was trying to explain to the _Galactica_'s commander why his instinct was screaming at him that something was diabolically wrong on the _Pegasus_. Something that he didn't understand, and that he didn't know how to take care of.

He was constantly on the move in Adama's office as he relayed his story. He sat, he stood, he paced, unable to remain still, while he offered his impressions of everything that had happened since the battle at Gamoray. Adama, to his credit, remained silent throughout, though his expression hovered between surprised, thoughtful, and dour, most notably when Cain told him about Baltar.

Finally, Cain sat heavily in the chair opposite Adama's desk. He picked up the ambrosa that his old friend had offered him on arrival, and swirled the contents in his glass, awaiting the other's viewpoint.

"I have never heard tell of these . . . Dionians." Adama began, leaning forward, resting his crossed arms on his desk as he considered the other. "Had you? Before you happened upon them? You'd certainly spent more time in that quadrant."

"No." Cain admitted with a frown. "At the time, I was counting my lucky stars that we had come across a civilisation that not only had the resources and manpower to help repair the _Pegasus_, but they also fought a common foe in the Cylons. They had the necessary motivation to come to our aid."

"But despite the fact that you suddenly had the resources you needed, you had trouble combining your crews?"

"Exactly. They resisted everything I tried. I even decided to put a Dionian Lieutenant in charge, hoping he could at least demand the respect of his own people, since they were the majority amongst the pilots. Discipline was tight when I was present, but as soon as they went out on patrol, it all fell apart. They barely tolerated each other. They actually endangered one another to outdo each other in combat. It was disgusting."

"Then you found Lieutenant Starbuck."

"Yes. I read the reports filed by the patrol, and my first impression was that they had found the body of an unidentified Colonial Warrior. The next thing I knew, I was being commed to the Life Station to discover that not only had they resuscitated the warrior, but that they had every confidence that he would survive with proper treatment. And while our more limited medical knowledge after those kinds of injuries—assuming the pilot lived—would normally mean a medical discharge, and a lifetime of physical disfigurement, they assured me that he would be unaffected."

"You said he was resuscitated though. He _was_ dead."

"By 'primitive measures only', Dr. Talib had said." Cain frowned. "Whatever that means. It was . . ." He sighed heavily. "Strange. It's difficult to explain. He became a symbol of hope. A sort of _miracle_, and God knows we needed one at that point. It was especially significant, since it was a joint Colonial/Dionian rescue mission. When it became clear that he would fully recover, Colonel Tartarus suggested to me that he might be appropriate as a choice for an official Squadron Leader to replace Lieutenant Chatan. That he could be the ultimate instrument of revenge."

Adama raised his eyebrows. "And you agreed."

"I remembered Starbuck from the _Galactica_. Even Cassiopeia told me he was one of your best warriors."

"But surely _that_ wasn't enough to make you decide to make him your Squadron Leader?" Adama asked, his brow furrowing.

"I also found out that Starbuck is . . . my son."

"Yes," Adama frowned. "You mentioned that. An indiscretion from your early days."

"You sound doubtful." Cain challenged him.

"Well, you've told me that you don't trust these people, so why should you believe that this uniquely Dionian genetic testing they've completed is accurate?" Adama watched the uncertainty cross Cain's features. "You honestly hadn't considered that?"

"I did at first. But then I grew to know him." Cain lapsed into silence for a long moment as he thought about his son. Honourable, brave, dedicated, intelligent, dutiful, handsome. One of the best pilots and leaders of men he had seen. "Adama, he's just like me. Can't you see the similarities?"

"He _is_ a trifle unrestrained at times, I admit." Adama smiled in amusement at the other's brief look of indignation. "And an incredibly talented pilot."

"Is that _all_ you see?"

"I could write an evaluation several pages long listing Starbuck's strengths _and_ weaknesses. I've known him since he was at the Academy with Apollo."

"Ah, that explains a few things. I didn't realize that you two had so much history." Cain rubbed his chin. "No wonder he has such a strong loyalty to you."

"Baltar?" Adama suggested. He had been somewhat surprised to hear that Starbuck had been responsible for killing the traitor . . . even on Cain's direct order.

"Baltar." The Juggernaut nodded.

"Starbuck probably heard the rumours that I gave Baltar my word that I would set him free after he gave us the crucial information for knocking out the Cylon Base Ship's sensors."

"He was still shocked at your decision."

"So were many of our people. And angry," Adama admitted. It had been a decision that had opened him up to public criticism even more than usual, but a necessary evil.

"But you knew that I'd find Baltar and finish him off," Cain added with a knowing look.

"The thought had occurred to me, but the unlikelihood was relatively high," Adama admitted. Offering Baltar an ambrosa in the privacy of Adama's own quarters, and speaking to him civilly to coerce the necessary information out of the traitor, had taken every bit of bureaucratic skill that the commander possessed. Still, it had left him with a bad taste in his mouth when he had reluctantly accepted Baltar's grip, and had agreed on the traitor's freedom as the price for valuable information that could finally put them on the military offensive. It was a far different situation than the one on Kobol, when Adama had been taken unaware in the tomb of the ninth Lord of Kobol when Baltar had suddenly appeared. The _Galactica_ commander's first instinct had been to choke the life out of the traitor with his bare hands, and had it not been for Apollo intervening, he very well might have.

"Ah." Cain nodded. "Well, Starbuck changed towards me after he executed Baltar on my orders. I think he . . . he took it harder than I had expected." He shook his head in bemusement, still not entirely understanding his strike captain's reaction.

"Going down to a planet to kill a man in cold-blood is different than combat, Cain." Adama informed him.

"Not to me." Cain shrugged. For over two yahrens, he had carried a burning hatred for the man that had betrayed the Fifth Fleet. Little did he realize that the same traitor had gone on to condemn the Twelve Colonies of Man. That, in of itself, had been enough to seal Baltar's fate. "He deserved to be executed. My only regret is I didn't do it myself."

"You truly feel no remorse for effectively taking another human's life, by issuing that order?" Adama asked.

"None." Cain shook his head. "How many human lives have been lost due to Baltar's continued allegiance to the Cylons _since_ the Destruction? How many more _would_ have been lost had he been picked up by them again? He finally met his rightful end."

"According to Colonial Jurisprudence, Baltar was sentenced to spend his life on the Prison Barge. Not to be executed."

"Unfortunately, I missed the verdict." Cain shrugged nonchalantly. "Besides, I debated all this with Starbuck, and he made all the same arguments, so I suppose you can be pleased that you've left your imprint on my son." Starbuck _had_ to be his son. His legacy. He refused to believe otherwise. At least, without proof. "I made my decision, Adama. I stand by it. And I still believe that you knew that I'd clean up your mess."

"Cain . . ." Adama paused, his voice low. "I've never quite understood how a man of your keen military insight and uncanny ability somehow reached the conclusion that the laws of mankind didn't apply to you."

"Sometimes a man is forced to operate outside the confines of rules and regulations to get the job done. I've based my career on that. And my life."

"Perhaps that is why you now find yourself in this predicament." Adama suggested bitterly. "Tell me, just what _exactly_ did you promise this _Colonel Tartarus_ in exchange for his help?"

"A chance for revenge."

Adama let out a deep breath, before he asked, "Revenge against . . .?"

"Why the _Cylons_, of course." Cain replied.

"Are you certain? Did he _specify_ the Cylons?" Adama asked.

"What are you getting at, Adama?"

Adama stood up, slowly striding over to the viewport. He stared into the stars beyond before replying. "A Colonial Warrior is brought back from the dead to be utilized as the ultimate weapon of Tartarus' revenge. Not only that, but it turns out that he is your son." He clasped his hands behind his back, feeling Cain's eyes on him. "I remember when Bethany was pregnant, Cain. You bragged about the son you were going to have and your hopes and dreams for him. I also recall your quiet disbelief sectars later when your daughter was born. It seems disturbingly convenient that these Dionians have been able to give you everything you desire or need. Even making your one elusive wish—that of a son to follow in your footsteps—come true."

Adama turned to consider the _Pegasus_ commander. Cain was still swirling the untouched ambrosa, his eyes on the floor, his face a mask of internal conflict. "Tell me, did Starbuck ever tell you of a Being we encountered some sectars ago, known as Count Iblis?"

Cain thought about it for a moment, before replying, "No. I'm sure he didn't."

"Somehow, I thought not."


	13. Chapter Twelve

It was almost like a dream. Or a nightmare.

When Starbuck came to his senses, in what could have only been microns since Tartarus had shaken him to the core, he was still standing on the command level of the _Pegasus_ bridge with the usual steady din surrounding him. People were going about their duties as if they were unaware of the encounter between the two men. It was as if the conversation with Colonel Tartarus, and his clear warning, had never occurred.

He licked lips that were as dry as any Borellian desert, as his eyes swept the area, looking for Tartarus. The Dionian smiled back at him from the level below, and cocked an eyebrow in question. Just holding those violet eyes, caused an ensuing coldness that seemed to penetrate straight through to his soul.

His soul.

He drew a deep breath and turned away. He could hear a quiet, mocking chuckle echoing through his mind, but was just as certain that if he turned back to Tartarus, that the man wouldn't be laughing. A wave of nausea swept over him, and he steeled himself—his hands wrapping tightly around the back of Flight Officer Omicron's chair—as he swallowed down the paralysing fear that was encroaching on his sanity.

"Are you quite alright, Captain? You look a little peaked." Tartarus called up to him, as he ascended the stairs.

"Fine." Starbuck replied, turning to watch the other's approach, as the hunted morbidly studies the hunter. Instinctively, he stepped back, putting another pace between them. He noticed Omicron glance back in question, but shook his head, affecting indifference. "I'm fine."

"You don't look fine, Starbuck." Tartarus replied furtively, an element of amusement flickering across his features as he came to stand directly in front of the strike captain.

"What do you want from me?" Starbuck rasped, unable to prevent the one thought that had been echoing through his mind, from being stated aloud.

"When the time comes, you will know." Tartarus replied quietly. "You _will_ know."

xxxxx

It was almost beyond the possible realm of belief.

Demons. Angels. No, Adama hadn't used those labels specifically, but from everything that the other had said about Count Iblis and the even more mysterious Ship of Lights, it was plain to Cain that his old friend was speaking of supernatural Beings. Disturbingly plain.

The pragmatic element of Cain couldn't quite accept it. There _had_ to be another more reasonable explanation, whether it was in the scientific advancements of another race, or in his inability to recognize and dissect a clever military strategem despite his suspicions. Of course, Adama bringing up the fact that he had been essentially blindsided by an unknown enemy—not that the _Galactica_ Commander had phrased it that way—didn't sit well with him either. Nor the possibility that Starbuck wasn't his son.

Which was what had brought him to the _Galactica_'s Life Station.

Cain uncharacteristically hovered by the entrance, his thoughts swirling around his head at light speed, as he waited for Adama to talk to his Chief Medical Officer about expediting a genetics comparison test. Ironically, Starbuck had been through a similar test several sectars previously which had been negative, and Adama had surmised that the warrior's results would now be a part of his medical records. In the course of several centars, they could at least know—from the tried and true Colonial point of view—whether or not Starbuck was his blood. And his son didn't even have to know about it.

The physician gestured to Cain to join them.

Cain nodded briskly, his eyes randomly searching the Life Station one more time before he joined them. "Can you do it, Doctor?"

"Salik. And yes, we can do it. Since it's a paternal connection that we're specifically looking for, we just need about twenty centons of your time to collect a neurological cell sample and some blood. The genetic comparison takes longer and is done by computer, but we should have results within a couple centars if we get started now." He motioned towards a treatment room.

"I have to insist on strict secrecy, Dr. Salik." Cain told him.

"Of course." Salik returned. "My staff are accustomed to maintaining the confidentiality of their patients." He looked at Adama who nodded his agreement.

"Your staff? I assumed _you_ would be doing the testing?" Cain asked.

"I'll verify the results, but the testing will be done by Cassiopeia. She's well versed in the procedure." Salik assured him. He turned as the blonde med tech entered the room.

Cassiopeia. A woman whose beauty was only rivalled by her honesty and sincerity. Qualities that were rare in any woman, not to mention a socialator. Cain couldn't help but smile as those magnificent blue eyes lit up at his unexpected appearance in her Life Station. Within a micron she was in his arms, holding him warmly.

"You're as beautiful as ever." Cain murmured to her.

"And you're as unpredictable as ever. Thank the Lords, you're safe." She squeezed his arm as she added, "And thank you for finding Starbuck."

"I understand the two of you are close. Even closer than when we last met." It was a statement of fact, lacking any judgment or bitterness.

"Yes." In one word she managed to convey both regret and happiness, for her future with Starbuck precluded her relationship with Cain. The end of one chapter, and the beginning of another.

"He's a good man. And a decent _second_ choice." Cain winked at her, knowing she would let the comment slide to accommodate his ego as he bowed out gracefully.

Cassie considered him for a moment. "A lot has happened since Gamoray, Cain."

"To us all." Cain nodded. "Now, Dr. Salik tells me you're going to be doing the genetic testing, so we should probably get started."

"Genetic testing?" Cassiopeia glanced between Cain and Salik in confusion.

Salik nodded. "Commander Cain has been told by the Dionian Chief Medical Officer that he and Starbuck are father and son. We simply want to run our own tests to confirm their results."

Cassie's mouth opened in shock. Her eyes darted between the men. Cain. Salik. Adama. She shook her head once, then twice, before finally croaking, "That's . . . _impossible_."

"Well, I admit it would seem that way to most people, but all the same, I want to make sure." Cain rebutted, glancing at Adama.

"No." Cassie grabbed Cain's arm tightly, her features intent. "You don't understand. It's _truly_ impossible. _Scientifically_ impossible."

"Cassiopeia?" Salik asked, his brow wrinkling with consternation.

"I would be . . . betraying patient confidentiality if I told them." She desperately looked to Salik for an answer.

Salik nodded tersely. "Come with me, Cassiopeia." He motioned to his office, took her gently by the arm, and the two disappeared behind the door.

Cain glanced at Adama, who had closed his eyes tightly and was shaking his head in disbelief. "Do you know something that I don't, Adama?"

Adama sighed, before turning to the other. "Truthfully, I'm not certain. Be patient."

Cain grunted.

Waiting. Unless it was part of a military strategy, patience wasn't Cain's long suit. He had the strangest feeling of anticipation as he stood there staring at the closed door. It started as a tingling sensation in his mouth. An ache over his breastbone. A burning in his gut. His body began to feel almost ethereal as he focused on the door, willing it to open. In a moment he would either quietly celebrate that there was still a chance to prove what he wanted so desperately to be true, or he would mourn the loss of the son he never really had. Lords, a moment felt like yahrens as his chest pounded in count with the chrono on the wall.

He blinked as the doors swished open. Cassiopeia blinked back tears, a stone-faced Dr. Salik at her side. The physician looked between the two commanders.

"It seems that the matter of Starbuck's paternity was decided some sectars ago." Salik's jaw twitched in agitation. "Unfortunately, his birth father exercised his _own_ right to file a 'no contact' notice on the record, and insisted _he_ would tell Starbuck in his own time. It's part of a privacy code for adults seeking their missing families, whether as the child or parent."

"Chameleon." Adama snapped. It was clear from his glower that he had suspected as much. He looked at Cassie disapprovingly, his thoughts on her withholding the truth from Starbuck apparent to them all through his long, audible sigh. She looked away miserably.

"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to divulge that information, Commander." Salik said, a model of confidentiality and self-control. He squeezed Cassie's arm, lending his professional support to his med tech, knowing it had to be an incredibly difficult situation for her to deal with, especially as Starbuck's lover.

Cain's shoulders slumped as he closed his eyes, turning away from them all. He had been _so_sure . . . He had seen mannerisms in Starbuck that were so similar to Rhea's, and those eyes . . . He took a deep breath, willing all the disappointment and pain to disappear as he exhaled. He needed to put things in perspective. He needed to get his mind wrapped around the _truth_.

The truth was he _had_ been duped. And the most painful part of it wasn't the blow to his ego, but the fact that it now left him wondering all the more about Starbuck. He had promised the young man he would return to the _Pegasus_ with answers. He had believed—based on the fact that Starbuck was his son—that they were on the same side. But what if Starbuck was truly part of this elaborate plot? What if he was just a shadow of the warrior that had once roamed the corridors of the _Galactica_, and was instead the instrument of revenge—whether deliberately, or unintentionally—that Adama had suspected. It left him all the more uncertain. And angry.

_Just thank the nine Lords of Kobol, that you never talked to Sheba about her brother. And then figure out what you're going to do next._


	14. Chapter Thirteen

There was far more conjecture than fact. The sad reality was, that based on speculation, Starbuck was being hung out to dry—as least as far as Apollo was concerned.

"This is crazy! Father, you spent all of thirty microns with Starbuck earlier today, and Commander Cain never really knew him to begin with! I've known him for almost fifteen yahrens." Apollo raved to the two Battlestar commanders who had updated him on their conclusions and their _plan_ in the privacy of Adama's quarters. "He's _exactly_ the same as when he flew out of here over three sectars ago. I'd bet my life on that!"

A shiver ran down Adama's spine with his son's declaration. Iblis had once threatened to take his son's life. For a moment he considered it as a possibility. Was this the revenge that the Count intended? They just didn't have enough information. "Apollo, you only spent centons with him yourself."

"That's all I _needed_ to spend with him." For centars, his entire conversation with Starbuck had been constantly running through his head. The overwhelming impression had been that his friend was turning to them for help, but instead he had been turned away, and sent back to the _Pegasus._ If only they had listened. If only they had given him half the chance that a loyal Colonial Warrior, compatriot and friend should have merited after all those yahrens of allegiance. "You're assuming too much here. Just because Starbuck never mentioned Count Iblis to Commander Cain, doesn't necessarily mean he's in league with him!"

"As I already said, Captain," Cain reminded him, "Starbuck told me more than once about these holes in his memory that he experienced after his accident. It seems clear to me now that for some reason, Colonel Tartarus—whether or not he's your mysterious Count—purposely erased those parts of Starbuck's memory that dealt with Iblis. He's been manipulating Starbuck—and me through him—since the Dionians . . . brought him back from the dead."

"That's really it, isn't it, Commander?" Apollo retorted. "_You_ don't like the idea that Tartarus or Iblis deluded you. You're using Starbuck as a fall guy, to take the blame . . ."

"Sagan sakes, Captain, that's not true!" Cain exploded, taking a step towards the angry young man. "Up until thirty centons ago, I thought he was my son, goddammit!"

"And as your _son_, you were willing to trust the fact that he wasn't out to betray the Fleet or yourself, but now that you've discovered he's just another war orphan, you want _me_ to take him into custody!" Apollo shouted back, his face flushed red with the intensity of his ire.

"Not exactly into _custody_," Adama shook his head, his tone low and measured, as he lay a hand on his son's shoulder. "We merely want Starbuck brought back to the _Galactica_ as soon as possible, for a thorough examination by Dr. Salik's medical team."

"How long?" Apollo asked bluntly.

"It might take a few days for Dr. Salik to thoroughly scan him physically and neurologically." Adama admitted.

"And where will he stay?" Apollo's eyes narrowed. "Besides inside the Biomedical Scanner in the Life Station, that is."

"As strike captain of the _Pegasus_, he will be allocated private quarters, just as we would do for any other visiting officer of his rank," Adama returned patiently. Calmly. Quietly.

"And he'll be free to come and go as he pleases on the _Galactica_?" Apollo demanded, the raw emotion in his voice still audible.

"As soon as the testing is completed, _and_ Dr. Salik confirms that he's cleared for duty." Adama replied. "Until then, he'll be confined to quarters, or the Life Station."

"I can't believe that you . . . you think he's somehow been programmed to harm us!" Apollo shook his head in astonishment, as he pled his friend's case. It was like being appointed as protector all over again. "Starbuck would _never_turn on his friends. Lords, the very reason we lost him to begin with was because he saved me from a pinwheel attack in battle. We're all the family that he's ever known. The Service is his _life_!"

"We have Starbuck's interests at heart, Apollo. You know that he's like another son to me," Adama assured his son. "Contrary to what you think, I hold out every hope that Starbuck is just as innocent in Iblis' ploy as the rest of the _Pegasus_ crew. Unfortunately, he's the one who has been identified by Tartarus as being his instrument of revenge. He's _also_ the one that the Dionians brought back from the dead. We need to see if he has any awareness of what it is he's supposed to do if we're going to prevent it from happening. Whatever _it_ is. You don't actually believe that I would do anything like this if I didn't feel it was absolutely necessary. Do you?"

"You really think this Colonel Tartarus could actually _be_ Count Iblis?" Apollo asked slowly as he considered his father's explanation.

"Either Iblis, or one of his minions." Adama nodded. "And as such, we are powerless to force them to leave the _Pegasus_ until Cain fulfils his bargain." He glanced at the other as Iblis words ran through his mind. _When a mortal breaks a bargain with me, there is a high price to be paid._

"Not that I won't be trying anyway," Cain added, his jaw clenched as he recalled Adama telling him of Iblis' interest in Sheba, and her strange attraction to him. He would keep them apart at any cost.

Apollo looked between the two men. "Remember, Father, much like Starbuck, I was also brought back from the dead after challenging Count Iblis. No one scanned me for three days at a time to see if I'd been _mentally realigned_."

"I recall you telling me that that encounter was one that filled you with a sense that there was something good, pure and caring out there." Adama motioned to the viewport and the starscape beyond. "Even Starbuck described a beautiful light . . . a sound. I believe Starbuck's experience—if he remembers it—would be vastly different."

"He'll stay with me in my quarters. I'm not isolating him." Apollo insisted after a moment.

"Boxey . . ." Adama immediately replied.

"He was already going to spend tonight's rest period at Aidyn's." Apollo nodded, knowing it was one thing for him to put himself at risk if there was any chance that there was a shred of truth to their theories, but quite another to potentially endanger his son. There mere thought of even considering that Starbuck could be a threat to any of them tore at his conscience. "I'll figure something out as we go along."

"Apollo, I truly think that if you and Cain explain all this to Starbuck, he'll be the first to volunteer to undergo these medical scans. He'll want to know the truth." Adama suggested. "I'm sure he doesn't want to put anybody at risk if he can prevent it."

"So I deal him a hand of guilt and loyalty," Apollo returned in frustration.

Cain sighed as he thought back to when he had ordered the young man to execute Baltar, "In my personal experience with Starbuck, it does seems to work the best."

xxxxx

He had never been so glad to get off the Bridge in all his days as a Colonial Warrior. Another moment in the disturbing presence of Colonel Tartarus would have had Starbuck tossing a cubit in the air to decide whether to flee the _Pegasus_ Control Centre, or just shoot the Colonel. Yeah, well, maybe both choices were a bit extreme, but he was on the edge . . . and ready to jump, if only to find out what lay below.

When Cain's shuttle had returned, he had breathed a sigh of relief. Hades, he had almost cheered when his father ordered him to Alpha Bay to meet him. But now as he strode towards the transport, he faltered a step.

Tartarus had some kind of plan for him. If he didn't comply, then he would suffer the excruciating death that had haunted his dreams since he had awakened in the Life Station. He sniffed in disgust. Yeah, sure that kind of death scared him, but, sweet Sagan, he had taken an oath as a Colonial Warrior to defend his ship and his people at any cost, the usual price, being one's life. It was something he had accepted a long time ago. _Besides, you managed to live through it the first time, Bucko. Maybe there's an 'out'._

Ever the optimist.

"Captain."

"Commander," Starbuck replied, realizing he'd been looking right through Commander Cain without really seeing him, as his thoughts filtered through his mind.

"Step inside, Starbuck." Cain motioned to the hatch of the shuttle from where he stood just outside it.

"What happened? What did Commander Adama think?" Starbuck asked, as he walked through. Apollo was waiting inside, a contemplative frown on his face, his body tight with tension. Starbuck sucked a loud breath through his teeth. "Ooh, this can't be good. You look about as dour as an Otori Sectarian, who drank too much ambrosa and slept through his seven-yahrenly conjugal visitation."

"Thanks a lot." Apollo returned with a slight smile.

Starbuck sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Alright, let me have it." He looked between the two men, not sure who was going to start.

"Starbuck, what do you remember of Count Iblis?" Apollo asked, watching carefully for his reaction.

"Who's Count . . . ?"

The memories rushed back so abruptly, so unexpectedly, that it felt like he had been slammed into a wall, his knees buckling under the onslaught. Images of the planet on which they had found Iblis on, the ensuing chaos that had resulted in the Fleet, and him carrying Apollo's dead body to the shuttle. Flickering memories of the Ship of Lights, Apollo's miraculous recovery, and then . . . almost a sectar later, their mission to Terra, and meeting John, yet another Being from the Ship of Lights.

"Starbuck! Are you okay?" Apollo asked, a supportive hand on his buddy's arm as he kneeled beside him. Cain was on his other side, pulling Starbuck's hands away from his face as he tried to assess the warrior's reaction.

"Starbuck?" Cain asked, feeling the young man's hands tremble as he gripped them. Starbuck's eyes were closed tightly, and he looked as though he was in agony.

Lords, it felt like someone had cleaved the front of his head wide open. Every emotion associated with Starbuck's reclaimed memories—joy, fear, anticipation, suspicion, shame, loss, guilt, grief—hit him full force, as he relived in his mind what had been taken from him sectars ago by Dr. Talib and Colonel Tartarus.

"Frack . . ." Starbuck rasped, leaning forward even further, hoping his frazzled brain, which was most certainly turning to mush, wouldn't suddenly spill out onto the deck. Then again, perhaps it would relieve the pressure.

"Buck up, Captain." Cain ordered him, listening to the gasping breaths as Starbuck tried to bring himself under control. Or at least that's what Cain _hoped_ he was doing.

"Easy, buddy," Apollo murmured. He looked to Cain pointedly. "Still think they're in cahoots, Commander?"

Cain frowned in reply. It certainly didn't appear that way. "Starbuck, talk to us. What's happening?"

"You're asking . . . _me_?" Starbuck mumbled, an image of Sheba asking an equally absurd question of him on the Ship of Lights, lancing through his mind like laser fire. "Sagan . . ." he gasped. Thoughts, feelings, and suspicions all whirled through his brain like a vortex, as he tried to rationalize what he had known in his gut all along. Then, as if his mind had finally reached some unknown level of equilibrium, the pain and confusion gradually receded in a blur, leaving him feeling utterly spent. One memory precluded everything else, words that Iblis had spoke to him and Sheba just before he had mysteriously disappeared on the surface of the planet after killing Apollo: _There will come another time, another place . . . and we will meet again._

"Can you stand?" Apollo asked, glancing at Cain when his friend finally mutely nodded. Together they pulled the _Pegasus_ strike captain to his feet. He kept a tight grip as Starbuck weaved like a drunken man.

"I remember it all now. All those _holes_ in my memory." Starbuck focused on Apollo, gripping the captain's arms, not only to steady himself, but because his friend wasn't a part of the myriad of lies he had been being fed for so long. He clung to him, hoping to find the truth, instead of deception, in Apollo's familiar green eyes. Lords, he had to reconfigure everything he had been thinking up to now. "It was all a . . . a lie. Wasn't it?"

"Parts of it," Apollo replied. Starbuck looked wide-eyed and lost. The _Galactica_ strike captain tried to imagine what his friend must be feeling as he guided him to a seat. He simply couldn't.

"You're not . . . _really_ my father," Starbuck stated to Cain. All those initial doubts flooded back. At first, it had seemed so unlikely that Starbuck—the orphan that had had to work or fight for everything that he had wanted out of life—could be the son of the legendary Commander Cain. It would have been the ultimate practical joke, had anyone on the _Pegasus_ been known for an excruciating sense of humour. And somehow, he couldn't quite come to terms with Count Iblis as the consummate prankster, so a good laugh at his expense obviously wasn't the objective.

The Juggernaut squeezed the younger man's shoulder. "If I _had_ a son, Starbuck, I could only wish that he would have turned out to be half the man that you _are_." He glanced at Apollo, before adding. "I don't know who this Chameleon is, but I intend to kick his astrum halfway to Earth when I finally meet him."

"Chameleon?" Starbuck asked, looking from one to the other in confusion.

"_He's_ your father," Cain told him. Confidentiality be damned, Starbuck had a right to know the truth, and if one selfish old man had had the decency to set him straight to begin with, they wouldn't have been vulnerable to Tartarus' machinations.

"No, he's not." Starbuck shook his head from side to side, as Cain nodded to reinforce his words. "Apollo?" The captain's mouth was set in a grim line as he also nodded. Starbuck grabbed his friend by the flight jacket once again as a new array of confused emotions hit him. "What the frack is going on?"

"Apparently, Chameleon didn't want you to know, Starbuck." Apollo shrugged helplessly, knowing it could only be crushing news to his friend, on top of everything else. Still, Cain was right to tell him. Apollo would have done it himself. . . later. If only the _Pegasus_ commander had a better sense of _timing_. "Some kind of privacy provision was put on your file. I don't really understand it myself, buddy." He winced as he looked upon his friend's disbelief . The dark-blond head bowed down and he let go of Apollo's jacket, his hand ritually raked his hair once again, pausing at the crown of his head to grip the strands in a tight fist. It would be a miracle if Starbuck had any hair left after all this.

"Cassiopeia . . ." Starbuck murmured. She had to have known; she'd performed the fracking tests. Was this some kind of message from Iblis? One more kick in the gut after he found out that Cain wasn't really his father. Why wouldn't she have told him?

"Ethical dilemma," Cain replied reasonably. "I could see how much it tore her up to hold back the truth from you, Starbuck. But the confidentiality code of her position forbade her revealing it. Maybe she thought you were better off without him."

"She had _no right_ to make that decision." Starbuck replied quietly, but vehemently as he studied the deck. The unveiling of Iblis, losing his place as Cain's son, and now Chameleon's rejection of him in conjunction with Cassiopeia's betrayal. He didn't know _how_ to feel. Sad, angry, scared to death. Some combination of all three that made him want to find a quiet place and a bottle of cheap ambrosa, and drown all three emotions until he was in a blissful state of oblivion.

"I don't think it was hers to make, Starbuck," Apollo pointed out. Cassiopeia had been one of the best things that had happened to his friend since . . . ever. A woman who could love him, and accept him for who he was, not expecting him to change to meet her needs. The first real long term relationship in his life with _any_ woman. She had been heart-broken when he had been reported missing in action, and despite the several advances made towards her after Starbuck's reported death, Apollo had heard from Sheba that Cassiopeia hadn't considered herself ready to move on. "It would be like you revealing classified information to Cassie. You just wouldn't do it. You _know_ that."

"It's _not_ the same thing," Starbuck replied bitterly, as he met Apollo's eyes. "_This_ is personal."

"Blame Chameleon, if you need to ascribe culpability," Cain inserted, gripping Starbuck's arm once again to regain his undivided attention. "Not Cassiopeia. For Sagan's sake, the woman wouldn't do anything to intentionally hurt you. She loves you. If you're idiotic enough to break her heart over this because of foolish pride, I promise you that _I'll_ be there to pick up the pieces."

"Thanks for your support," Starbuck returned blithely with a smile dredged up from a lifetime of squelching raw emotions beneath artistically projected insouciance. In a milli-centon, he was staring into angry, blue eyes as he was hauled half off his seat by Commander Cain's titanium grip on his jacket.

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself! We don't have time for this! We know that we've been living in some kind of fictional universe created by these Dionians for the last number of sectars, now we have to get past that!" Cain gave him a shake. "What does Tartarus want from you? Do you _know_?"

"Iblis." Starbuck replied. "Iblis_is_ Tartarus. Or Tartarus is Iblis. Depending on how you look at it."

"Are you sure?" Apollo asked, over Cain's shoulder. Starbuck's instinct had saved his life in the past. He wasn't about to discount it now, especially when it corroborated his father's theory.

"I'm not _sure_ of anything," Starbuck replied, letting out a short breath as he tried to organize his fragmented thoughts.

Cain sighed, and let go of the warrior. He glanced at Apollo.

"I don't believe that, Starbuck." Apollo stepped forward. "I know this has to be overwhelming, especially with Chameleon thrown into the mix. I can't even imagine what it's like to live one existence for over three sectars, and then find out that none of it was real. Well, other than the fact that I've also thought that you were dead for that long, buddy. But if I know you as well as I think I do, part of you would have suspected that all along. You're not easily duped, even when someone sweetens the pot with the father you never thought you'd have, a promotion to strike captain, and half the women on your Battlestar chasing after you for casual sex."

"I think it was more than half of them, actually," Starbuck returned with a slow grin, regaining some confidence with Apollo's words. He _had_ been suspicious all along.

"Save it," Apollo replied with a rueful smile. "In any case, you have an amazing instinct that seems to see you through just about anything. Tell us what you really think is going on. Tell us why you think that Tartarus is really Count Iblis."

"As far as I know, only the Beings from the Ship of Lights can bring someone back from the dead, Apollo." Starbuck looked at him pointedly. "Like they did for you."

"And this Count Iblis was one of them, at least at some point, so he'd logically have the same abilities," Cain concluded. "Adama thought that the Dionians could be . . . Iblis' minions."

"Yes, I'd agree with that. And I can't really explain why I _know_ that Tartarus is Iblis. It's a feeling." Starbuck shook his head. "No. It's more than that, it's a _certainty_. At least in here." He tapped his temple with his index finger. "He told Sheba and I that he'd be back. Obviously, the form that we knew Iblis in from our earlier encounter with him, is as interchangeable to him as a piece of clothing is to us." He glanced down at his usual beige uniform. Yeah, the uniform or naked were his two customary choices these days. He didn't even own anything that could pass for civilian clothing . . . assuming his locker on the _Galactica_ had been cleaned out over three sectars ago as per ritual. "Uh, maybe that isn't a great comparison for a warrior, but you know what I mean."

Apollo nodded. "Like John on Terra. He presented an image that we would be comfortable with. I remember when I fired on Count Iblis on the planet. His image changed to . . . something _monstrous_."

"And again when I fired on him after he had . . . killed you. Maybe that's his true form. Or maybe his true form is something that we only _perceive_ as evil, and can't really identify with at all." Even now, those memories haunted Starbuck. He had never been filled with so much hatred, desperation and grievous loss as when Iblis had struck Apollo down with a simple wave of his hand. He had intended to back up his friend when Apollo had decided to make his war with Iblis personal. Starbuck was _supposed_ to prevent Apollo from doing anything stupid. He was _supposed_ to stop Apollo from making a deadly error. Ultimately, he had let Apollo down. Since then, he had sworn that it wouldn't happen again. "When I first landed on the _Galactica_ earlier today, I felt . . . like a . . ." He shrugged helplessly, unable to put it into words.

"Like a dark cloud had lifted," Cain supplied.

"You felt it too?" The younger man asked in surprise.

Cain nodded. "Go on."

"Count Iblis thinks I'm going to avenge him, somehow," Starbuck continued. "I don't know what he wants me to do, but he said that when the time comes, I'll know."

Apollo studied him closely. "Why would he think that you'd . . ."

"Cooperate?" Starbuck asked. "I suppose he thinks he's still steering the ship. That he's in control."

"Or he thinks he has some kind of _control_ over you," Apollo ventured, getting an increasingly disturbing feeling.

"He might think that he does. He's wrong though, if that's the case," Starbuck replied.

"How can you be sure?" Cain asked. This was exactly what he and Adama were concerned about. "We don't know what he's capable of. The extent of his capabilities . . . his powers. We don't know what the Dionians actually did to you when they erased those parts of your memory."

"I'm sure, because he's been trying to get us to do his bidding by misleading us. Lying to us. Manipulating us. He can't directly interfere, just influence."

Apollo nodded. "He has limits and rules that he has to operate within. I remember when we were on the Ship of Lights, they told us that Iblis uses his powers to corrupt, and lead others away from truth. They also said he'd have to forfeit some payment of their choosing for killing me."

"Yeah, he's not allowed to use the Trans-Dimensional Hovermobile on secton-end anymore," Starbuck added ruefully, rising restlessly from the seat.

"Well, if the punishment was to fit the crime . . ." Cain mused.

"He might not be able to take a life anymore," Apollo suggested.

"Regardless," Starbuck reiterated, "Iblis can't force me to do anything against my will. He doesn't have dominion over me."

"All the same," Cain began, "Captain Apollo's taking you to the _Galactica_'s Life Station. Dr. Salik is going to do a thorough examination on a molecular level, just to make sure that the Dionians . . .er, that Count Iblis, hasn't _done_ anything to you that could affect your behavior."

"What have we just been talking about?" Starbuck argued vehemently. Being out of the action while he was being inspected like a rare form of bacterium, wasn't going to get him any further ahead. "He hasn't done anything to me!"

"He brought you back from the dead," Cain argued. "With the intent of using you for some malignant purpose known only to him. We just want to make sure that isn't going to happen." He watched Starbuck's face flush with anger and his mouth open to continue the debate, so the Juggernaut cut off his reply. "That's an order, Captain."

"That's pure felgercarb!" Starbuck snapped, adding as an afterthought. "Sir."

Apollo placed a hand on his arm, grimacing in distaste as the words passed his lips. "As the Commander said, we just don't know what Iblis is capable of, Starbuck. We've only gained a small amount of insight into his kind. You don't want to put anyone at risk if it can be avoided, do you?"

Starbuck blew out a disbelieving breath as he pulled back from Apollo's grip. "I thought that at least _you'd_ believe me."

"I do!" Apollo insisted. "But the safety of the Fleet has to come first, Starbuck."

"Unfortunately, Captain Apollo isn't the one making the decisions, Starbuck. However, he did argue on your behalf until we agreed to at least let you stay with him in his quarters until the series of tests are done, rather than in isolation." Cain inserted as Starbuck's jaw muscles tightened. "This isn't about trust, Starbuck. It's about truth. And I mean to get to the bottom of it. If Iblis thinks you're the instrument of his revenge, then he must think you'll acquiesce to his demands for some pertinent reason. Either you _don't_ know what that is, or you've decided to not share it with us for some reason. Which is it?" Cain demanded.

A whoosh of breath released through gritted teeth, and then, "Count Iblis threatened me."

"With what?" Apollo asked.

"Death."

"Wait a centon, weren't we just theorizing that Iblis might not be able to take another life?" Apollo asked slowly.

"Yeah." Starbuck nodded, then added deadpan. "Sure hope we're right about that."

Neither man seemed to find that as amusing as he apparently did.

"Is there more?" Apollo asked, watching his friend shift from foot to foot restlessly.

Starbuck shook off another flood of images as he recalled the smell of burning flesh and the searing pain as he was trapped in the blazing inferno of his fighter. Was it supposed to be a memory or a prediction? Past or future? Or both? Yeah, he had a strong suspicion that at some point, somehow he was going to end up just where he had left off the last time he had been in battle with Blue Squadron. If he admitted as much, they might just remove him from the equation entirely by grounding him. His sixth sense was telling him that he had to be there, or Iblis _would_ get his revenge. The rest—as far as surviving the encounter by doing something different—he would have to work out later.

"No," Starbuck replied steadily. "And I hope I don't have to spell it out for you, that I'm not about to cave in to Iblis because of a threat. Idle or otherwise."

"Glad to hear it, Captain. All the same, I'm relieving you of duty and placing you under Captain Apollo's authority until Dr. Salik grants you full medical clearance," Cain inserted.

The fracking line of command. You could talk yourself blue in the face, but it was pointless when your CO had already made up his mind. Cain wasn't there to discuss it with him, merely to inform him of the decision already made in his absence. It was scant comfort that Apollo looked as agitated as Starbuck felt.

"Yes, sir," the _Pegasus_ strike captain snapped back bitterly.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Ten centons of silence in Starbuck's company was his limit, Apollo realized as he glanced over at his friend for the tenth time since they had launched the shuttle from the _Pegasus._ As much as Starbuck had appeared to try and busy himself in the co-pilot's seat, he had been staring at the scanner as if in a trance for a solid four centons. Apollo glanced at his chrono. Make that five centons.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"I think I'd rather brood," Starbuck replied quietly, glancing over with a fleeting smile.

"Ranting is more your style," Apollo observed.

"I've been known to brood," he protested grudgingly after a moment.

"There's usually ambrosa involved," Apollo returned. "A _lot_ of it."

"I remember a time when a good buddy might have had a flask of ambrosa tucked in his kitbag for emergencies." Starbuck sighed dramatically.

"I have a whole bottle back in my quarters."

"How old?" Starbuck perked up. "Boxey is older than the gut rot that they had on the _Pegasus_."

"Sixteen yahrens. Afraid it's not Proteus stock."

"Sixteen yahrens, eh?" There was a time when that had been considered pretty damn respectable. A slow grin spread across Starbuck's features. "Things are looking up."

Apollo chuckled. Now that the mood was lighter, he was ready to make another attempt to draw out his friend. "Seriously, tell me what you were thinking about."

"I was wondering . . . why Iblis chose _me_."

"Ah. Did you come to any conclusions?" Apollo asked.

"I guess he thought I'd be easier to deceive than someone like you, or your father. I have a few more . . . character flaws." He sniffed in self-derision. "You know, I just remembered the celebration on the _Rising Star_ that they had after Boomer's team beat us at triad. Iblis told me then that he thought we were going to be soul mates."

Apollo glanced soberly at his friend. "Then he was wrong."

xxxxx

Cain stormed onto the _Pegasus_ Bridge, taking the steps to the command level two at a time before coming to a stop in front of Tartarus. Despite Adama's warning to not do anything confrontational, he'd be damned if he was going to stand aside and let the situation just play itself out.

"Commander Cain, how nice of you to join us." Tartarus smiled unpleasantly.

"I know who you are, Tartarus." Cain spat at him. "I want you to take your people, and get off my ship. _Now_."

"We struck a bargain, Commander. We have an agreement. I'm not going anywhere until my half is fulfilled, as yours has been." Tartarus paused to look at the few crew members who had stopped to watch their encounter. "Back to your duties," he ordered them.

Cain gripped the other's tunic with both hands. "Get off my ship, _Iblis_."

Malevolence replaced any attempt at pleasantries. "Unhand me now, or forfeit your life."

"The way I understand it," Cain snarled at him, "I have to be one of your _followers_ before you can take my life. Or you're in trouble with your superiors."

"You are quite mistaken. I _have_ no superiors," Iblis returned, looking down at Cain's fists distastefully.

"Then you can answer to me!" Cain cried, as he slammed a fist into the other's gut. It was like hitting a brick wall, and he grunted in pain, cradling his throbbing hand, as he stared with shock into Iblis' vainglorious smile. Adama, Starbuck and Apollo had all failed to mention this pertinent detail.

"I answer to _no one_," Iblis returned, before he gave a seemingly light push, which hurled Cain metrons through the air, until he crashed down onto the Bridge deck below.

xxxxx

"_Pegasus_ shuttle requesting landing instructions," Starbuck spoke into his headset.

"Proceed to landing bay . . ."

A klaxon abruptly blared in the background. Starbuck glanced at the scanner, then switched to rear scan. He shook his head at Apollo. "Nothing."

"_Pegasus_ shuttle, proceed to Landing Bay Alpha," Rigel resumed.

"This is Captain Starbuck, what's going on, Rigel?" Starbuck glanced at Apollo's equally tense face as his friend brought them around for an approach on Alpha Bay.

"One moment, Captain." Rigel signed off.

"Still nothing on our scanner. They must still be out of the shuttle's tracking range," Starbuck reported.

"Then I have plenty of time to get to my Viper," Apollo added.

"_We_ have lots of time," Starbuck corrected him.

"Starbuck . . ." he began to protest.

"Apollo," Adama interrupted on the commline. "We have a Cylon task force approaching the Fleet from heading Delta-one-eight. It looks to be an entire Base Ship's complement of Raiders, Apollo. Squadrons should be ready to launch in four centons."

"We're on final approach now, Commander. I'll rendezvous with Blue Squadron in Launch Bay Alpha," Apollo returned, decreasing thrust as he levelled out.

"Any sign of their Base Ship, Sir?" Starbuck asked the commander.

"Not yet, Starbuck. But there are several planets that could be blocking their signal."

"Have you raised Commander Cain?"

"No, Starbuck," Adama supplied briefly. "The _Pegasus_ hasn't responded."

Starbuck gritted his teeth, as they touched down. He wondered what the Juggernaut was up against with Count Iblis on his Bridge. Well, the Cylon attack force had to come first. They needed to protect the Fleet. He glanced at Apollo as the shuttle slowed.

"Who's your wingman?"

"I don't have one. I've been . . . doing pilot evaluations. It was overdue."

The thought that Apollo hadn't replaced him was somehow satisfying. "Well, you have one now, or at least until I can rendezvous with my pilots from the _Pegasus_." It occurred to him that most of those pilots were Dionians. What would happen now? Would they still try and maintain some semblance of the illusion and join the fight, or would they remain on the _Pegasus_? Oh, and there were probably several other scenarios that he hadn't thought about, or didn't really want to, such as a full scale mutiny with the Dionians trying to take the ship. And there wasn't a dang thing he could do to help from the landing bay of the _Galactica_. No, it was all dependent on Cain's next move with Iblis, and if Starbuck knew his commanding officer, well . . . he'd enter the fray under full turbos with lasers firing. "We're going to need every available fighter out there, buddy."

"I know. Especially with a Cylon Base Star out there somewhere." Apollo nodded, pulling off his headset. "Let's go."

xxxxx

The _Pegasus_ Bridge erupted in pandemonium as they reacted to the assault on their Commander. Several crew members raced to Cain's side, others stood with mouths agape, as if paralyzed by the suddenness of the attack, and the inhuman power that Tartarus had exhibited. Cain rolled over slowly, grunting in pain. Pushing himself up on one hand and his knees, he covered his aching chest with his other hand as he looked around blearily. Blood oozed down his face from a gash over his eye.

"Sir, are you alright?" Omicron asked, grabbing Cain's arm as the Juggernaut sat back gingerly on his haunches, still guarding his side.

"I've been better," Cain admitted, wiping the blood from his eye and trying to figure out what to do next. Why had he thought he could simply pummel the supernatural Being, as if Iblis was of their dimension? In retrospect, it had been rash, and idiotic . . . and the worse part of all was, it hadn't worked in any way, shape or form, as his usual on-the-spot plans did.

"Should we . . ." Omicron's voice wavered, "arrest him, Sir?" He glanced up uncertainly at the 'executive officer' who had displayed such unbelievable and unnatural strength as he hurled their military leader across the Bridge.

"Arrest me?" Iblis sneered as several warriors drew closer to him. "Ignorant mortals! I am not subject to _your_ laws."

"Stand down!" Cain ordered his crew, leaning on Omicron as he laboriously regained his feet. He knew that his crew would do anything that he asked of them, but sending Bridge Officers—or anybody, for that matter—against Iblis, would be like leading ovines to the slaughter. "This is between 'Colonel Tartarus', and myself," he added, his voice low and measured as he swallowed down his pain, and paced towards the malignant Being, free of any support. The time had come for the two leaders to face off, man to man. Or man to immortal, if what Adama said was accurate.

"Actually, Cain, I must correct you." Iblis smiled tolerantly as the meagre distance between them narrowed. "It was never between you and I. I merely used you—as I do _all_ predictable and malleable Humans—as a means to an end." He paused in thought for a moment, then appeared pleasantly surprised. "Ah, it has begun." And with a victorious smile, he simple vanished.

"Sir . . .?" Omicron stuttered, looking at his commanding officer searchingly.

"Lords of Kobol . . ." Cain muttered as he blinked in disbelief. It was never about _him_.

"Sir! Commander Adama on communicator, Sir," Lieutenant Pazzo reported.

Cain turned towards the monitor, "Go ahead, Adama."

xxxxx

Not for the first time in combat, Starbuck's mind wasn't entirely in the here and now. Embroiled as he was in the _Pegasus_' command structure, he couldn't help but wonder what was happening between Cain and Iblis as he listened to the familiar voices around him, and stuck to Apollo's wing, destroying Cylons and simultaneously watching his friend's back, as he had for yahrens, all the time keeping half an eye peeled for any sign of an enemy Base Ship.

Blue Squadron, backed up by the _Galactica_'s Silver Spar, were the first line of defence. Red and Green squadrons would hang back and defend the Fleet, only entering the fray if it became necessary. The unknown was, what would Cain do. Or what _could_ Cain do, potentially hampered by Count Iblis and his _Dionians_.

"Sagan, they must outnumber us two to one," Giles mumbled over the comm.

"Well, if you count actual crew members, Giles, it's six to one," Starbuck reminded him, his tone purposely jovial. He lined up another Cylon Raider and hit his lasers, whooping with a trademark '_Yeeeeeehawwwwww!_' when the three-'man' fighter incinerated as it crossed his flight path.

"Was that supposed to be encouraging, Starbuck?" Giles asked. "I would have loved to have listened to one of your motivational speeches for your squadron on the _Pegasus_."

"Yeah, I can hear it now," Jolly added. "They're about to take on a Cylon task force, and Starbuck is yelling out, 'Two kills gets you a guaranteed place at my pyramid table, and whoever doesn't get off a shot is buying the first round in the OC!'"

Starbuck chuckled under his breath. Lords, it was good to be back.

xxxxx

"Disappeared?" Adama asked, astounded.

"He said 'it has begun', and then just vanished." Cain confirmed, all eyes upon him. Now that Iblis was gone, he returned to the problem at hand, the Cylon task force. He glanced at the navigational board, verifying the vector that the attack was coming in on, related to the planetary positions. "Any sign of the Cylon Base Ship?"

"None." Adama shook his head. "There a few possibilities . . ."

"Yes, I see," Cain interrupted as he decided the most likely positions for the ship to be lying in wait.

"Commander Cain," Omicron interrupted. "Chief Warrant Officer Avery from the flight deck reporting in, sir. He said it's an emergency."

"Go ahead, Avery." Cain turned.

"Sir, they're all gone." The young man's eyes were wide with confusion and shock. "The Dionians and their fighters. One moment they were there, getting ready to launch, and the next. . . they just . . . _disappeared_." He shook his head, looking around behind him in the launch bay as if to verify his own observation all over again.

"Prepare our remaining Vipers, and get our pilots out there to help with the attack!"

"Sir, there are only eight of them." Avery reminded him.

"I know that. Now get them launched ASAP! I want Silver Spar in there to help. Sergeant Elara will be in command until they rendezvous with Blue Squadron." According to Starbuck, she was a damn good pilot.

"Yes, sir."

"Adama," Cain turned back to the monitor. "I'm pulling the _Pegasus_ out after we launch our fighters, just like at Gamoray, they probably haven't scanned us yet. We just might retain the advantage."

"Exactly what I was thinking." Adama nodded.

"Where's Starbuck?" Cain asked. By now he should have been safely tucked away where he couldn't do any harm, no matter what Iblis had planned for them.

"He docked with Apollo, so he should be headed for Life Station. One moment." Adama turned as someone spoke to him off screen. He turned back to the monitor. "He's out there. In battle." His face was dour.

"He was under orders to report to report to the _Galactica_'s Life Station, damn it." Cain barked.

"Then put him on report," Adama remarked, trying to imagine the circumstances whereby Starbuck would ever sit out a battle if he could be of use to them in a cockpit. He should have realized that the lieutenant . . . _strike captain_ would somehow delay his medical evaluation during a Red Alert. His chest hitched with apprehension, and he couldn't help but wonder if Iblis had possibly manipulated them to the end he had carefully orchestrated.

"I'll strip and module him!" Cain replied angrily.

"May the Lords of Kobol give you that chance." Adama replied soberly.

xxxxx

"Watch it, Jolly, You have two on your tail." Boomer told the lieutenant.

"According to Starbuck, I have six on my tail," Jolly replied, an edge of nervousness in his tone as he started evasive manoeuvres.

"Jolly's always been popular," Apollo added, as he watched Boomer take out one of the attackers. "Nice shot, Boomer."

"Frack, I could use a hand here, Sheba," Bojay inserted from Silver Spar's position.

"On my way, Boj . . ."

A beep on Starbuck's scanner abruptly drew his attention. He bit his lip as he watched the annular image partially emerge, and then suddenly reverse directions, disappearing again behind a planet. A blinding flash followed, from what could only be a laser or pulsar cannon, and he blinked as he tried to clear the spots from his vision.

Then abruptly the comm filled with a terrified shriek as Sheba screamed in pain and fear.

"Sheba!" Apollo called out as he picked up her signal on his scanner, at the same time detecting the _Pegasus_ engaging the Cylon Base Star. "Report!"

"Los . . . con . . . nt . . . reg . . ."

"Sheba, you're breaking up!" Apollo cried, seeing three Cylon Raiders on the scanner closing in for the kill. All other Vipers were engaged in combat. "I'm on my way! Cree, help Bojay out!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Flight Sergeant Elara of the _Pegasus_ here, sir. Silver Spar Squadron reporting for duty. We'll cover Bojay."

"Good timing, Sergeant," Apollo replied briefly.

Apollo broke formation and headed for the disabled fighter. Starbuck bit his lip, torn between assuming command of his squadron, and sticking with his oldest friend. As usual, his gut instinct won out. He followed.

A eerie sense of déjà vu gripped him by the throat, as fleeting memories of another battle three sectars ago started replaying through his mind. He shook them off, knowing that now, more than ever, he had to stay focused.

xxxxx

The Cylon Base Star had been just where Cain thought it would be, lurking behind a planet, awaiting the gradual luring of the Colonial Vipers further away from the Fleet as the battle raged on. Once the defensive forces were far enough away, she would move on the Fleet, decimating the passenger ships that separated the Cylon killer from the _Galactica_.

The same planetary bodies that shielded the presence of the massive Cylon ship from the Colonial scanners, provided cover for the _Pegasus_ as she moved into position for the attack, pummelling her quarry with laser cannons. And as Cain had suspected, they were unprepared for the attack.

"Scanners detecting massive damage to the Base Star, Commander." Omicron reported.

"Prepare to launch missiles. We'll finish her off before they even figure out who hit her." Cain gloated. Once again, he wondered what Iblis' plan for revenge entailed. If the Count thought that the Cylons would get the upper hand in this battle, he was wrong. Not while _Cain_ was commanding the _Pegasus_.

"Yes, sir."

xxxxx

"Frack," Starbuck muttered as he slammed down his control stick and rolled to avoid the Cylon salvo attempting to fry his astrum. He glanced at his scanner to witness Apollo breaking through the line of Cylons pursuing Sheba. The Raiders broke formation to avoid the _Galactica_ captain's lasers and a possible collision, then one rocked as it was hit. It was pure artistry.

Starbuck only had a micron to appreciate his friend's skill, however, before he was dodging further salvos. He was on a parallel course to Apollo's, but it seemed that half the Cylon Empire were between them, purposely trying to keep the wingmen separated.

But by then it had ceased to matter.

Brought on by the magical rush of pure adrenaline, that heightened awareness had engulfed him, sharpening each sense, and accelerating every reaction until it seemed he was invincible. Each volley of laser fire ended in the destruction of a Cylon fighter; each last-micron instinctual adjustment in course meant avoiding laser fire meant for him; every prediction he made as to where the enemy was going to end up was dead on. He became one with his ship, and a deadly force to be reckoned with.

That same undeniable instinct that could predict his enemy's strategem kicked in full force as he looked at his scanners once again. Apollo, while methodically eliminating the Cylons pursuing Sheba, and providing her flailing ship cover, was about to be swarmed by Raiders as they set up for the deadly pinwheel attack. There was no possible way Apollo could see them approaching from rear and flank positions, while he skirmished with those dead ahead.

"Apollo, they're pinwheeling!" Starbuck warned him, wondering if the captain even heard the warning as the preoccupied strike leader spoke to Sheba encouragingly while trying to protect her and escort her back to base.

Now, every pilot knew that the only thing more invigorating than escaping a pinwheel, was to decimate one before it had fully formed and locked on one of your buddies. Starbuck hit his turbos and lasers simultaneously, letting out a whoop as the Cylon Raider dead ahead incinerated mere milli-centons before he shot through its debris.

He corkscrewed through the battlefield of space, racing towards Apollo, determined to annihilate the formation as they lined up one after the other like toy soldiers in a row, preparing to surround Apollo, and destroy him. It was more show than substance, and probably looked good for the quarterly Cylon air shows—if Cylons did that—but as a tactical manoeuvre, it was a waste of manpower . . . er, cybernetic Being power, as it were.

_When the time comes, you will know._

His mouth went bone dry as it hit him. He was supposed to . . . choose. If he tore apart the pinwheel formation, Apollo would escape, and with him, Sheba. Starbuck, on the other hand, would . . . He closed his eyes for a milli-centon, only to see himself screaming in agony in the fiery fury of a burning Viper.

His eyes flew open and he snorted in disbelief. It was too fracking simple. He had thought it would be the challenge of a life time. That Iblis would use some kind of demonic powers to force his hand. That he would somehow be coerced to play a part in the Fleet's ultimate destruction. Lords, by comparison, this was child's play.

_Not on my shift, buddy._

"You lose Iblis," he muttered quietly, not giving it a further thought. He thumbed his laser as he efficiently began incinerating Cylon Raiders, destroying their wing as he barrelled towards them. He jerked his control stick back, scattering the remaining enemy fighters as they corrected course to avoid him. Then his ship rocked violently, and he was jolted like a man riding a wild, bucking equine as smoke filled the cockpit.

He slammed his stick forward and over hard to the right. Starbuck gasped in pain as an electrical current abruptly shot up his arm while the control panel sparked and hissed. Releasing the stick and jerking his arm back reflexively, he winced as another salvo hurtled by, barely missing him.

His ship rocked again. This time his breath was expelled from his lungs as his chest exploded in agony. In the back of his mind he could almost hear Iblis roaring in fury that his plan to kill Apollo—and by extension, Sheba—had been foiled. Adama and Cain wouldn't even realize how close they came to losing their first born. It was enough to ease Starbuck's misery as his body was wracked with pain, and his mind desperately yearned for the rewarding bliss of insentience.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

"Apollo, Starbuck's hit!" Boomer shouted, as he destroyed the Raider lining up his friend for the kill. He could see Starbuck's engines kicking in, then dying, before flaring to life once again as the fighter pitched from the intermittent power surges.

Apollo swallowed his heart back down into his chest as he silently thanked his buddy for saving his astrum from yet another pinwheel attack, before asking, "Starbuck, how bad is it?" He banked his ship, turning back towards Starbuck's position while keeping an eye on Sheba.

"Bad. His reactor system's been hit. He's probably going to lose power, control _and_ life support. His power is intermittent already," Boomer replied for him, hearing Starbuck alternately groaning in pain and gasping for air, so reminiscent of the last time this had happened. It was too coincidental to be believed. "Apollo, I'm following him down this time. I'm not leaving alone him again."

"Apollo, my systems are back up!" Sheba inserted. "Just like the last time! It was a malfunction, not a hit."

"But that's not possible . . ." Apollo murmured aloud. Twice, in the space of three sectars, he had escaped from pinwheel attacks by virtue of Starbuck's intervention. Twice had Sheba's ship been disabled by the same diagnostic problem. Twice had they found themselves in battle, searching for an elusive Cylon Base Star. Then it hit him.

"_Count Iblis threatened me."_Starbuck had told him on the shuttle with Cain.

"_With what?"_

"_Death."_

Deliverable if Starbuck didn't do the Count's bidding. Instantly, Apollo realized that his own death was an intrinsic part of the quotient. A fate that his wingman and best friend would not permit, even under pain of his own death.

"Sheba, have you run a diagnostic? Are your systems fully operational?" Apollo asked her, the tension in his voice audible as he heard Starbuck gasping and wheezing over the comm. The Colonial pilots had triumphed over the Cylons the last time, and this time around there were an additional eight pilots from the _Pegasus_. He considered leaving the battle—putting duty to his friend above his duty to the job—wondering if he could make a bigger difference on the surface when Starbuck crash landed. He and Boomer might have some time before the Viper erupted into flames, as Cain had reported to him on the _Galactica_. If they could get Starbuck out before then, he _might_ have a chance. They _might_ be able to change Starbuck's destiny, as predicted by Iblis.

"Affirmative. All systems go, Apollo. I don't need to return to the _Galactica_. I'm sure of it." Her tone made it clear that it was _not_ a debatable point. "Look, I don't really understand what's going on here, but this is eerily similar to the last battle where we lost Starbuck . . ."

"I know."

Apollo evidently wasn't the only one who felt that something strange was happening. Were they all being given a precious second chance by some greater life force? Was it some kind of test? If so, Starbuck had already been tested, and he had opted to risk his life for Apollo once again, this time fully knowing that he would die. But what if the rest of them also had a chance to alter the future . . . or was it the past? In the last instance, Apollo had continued to lead the squadrons, following rules and regulations as he had been trained and bred to do. What if this time, he changed tack? He only had to leave a capable leader in charge. He wasn't the _only_ Colonial Warrior out there capable of commanding a their forces.

"Take command of the squadrons, Sheba. I'm going with Boomer," Apollo ordered her a micron later. He had let down Starbuck once, and it wasn't often in life that you were given the chance to go back and correct your mistakes. A fleeting image of Zac came to mind. The guilt and second-guessing he had done since losing Zac, and then Starbuck, had weighed heavily on him, making the rigours of command simply feel like too much at times. No, he wouldn't fail his friend again.

"Starbuck, if you can hear me, there's a Delta class planet right ahead. Starbuck?" Boomer called again, hoping the struggling ship was still receiving transmissions. Lord, if it wasn't, he'd do his damnedest to _will_ the ship to respond. He frowned as he saw the badly damaged underside of the Viper sparking. Sparks could easily ignite when they hit the oxygen rich environment of the planet below. "I'll talk you down, buddy. Just like last time."

"Only this time we're coming with you all the way, Bucko. Right down to the surface," Apollo interjected, wincing as he listened to Starbuck struggle for each and every breath. He thumbed his laser, destroying a Raider veering towards his friend. "Starbuck, can you hear me?"

Starbuck's chest pumped like a bellows as he struggled to draw enough air into his lungs to keep living. He coughed and sputtered, as the smoke from the control panel thickened. Reluctantly, he touched his chest where it burned in agony, brushing against jagged metal that had erupted from the side of his fighter. Grimacing in revulsion, he pulled back a shaking hand that came away wet and sticky, and almost lost his mushies. That was enough of that. He really didn't want to know why there was a gaping hole in his side. Vaguely, he wondered if he just aimed for the nearest Raider, and collided with it—taking them both out in a fiery burst of destruction—if he could avoid the whole melodramatic inferno scene on the surface that Iblis had promised him. Frankly, he would just as soon pass. The problem was his indomitable will to survive; it just wasn't conducive to suicide runs.

_Never give up, pal. You never know . . ._

Yeah, well, he had a pretty good idea. The odds of surviving this were about a million to one. The problem was that when he was betting on himself, he'd accept any odds, no matter how bad. The glimmer of a grin crossed his face, before another stabbing pain in his side contorted his features. _What do you have to lose, Bucko? Even knowing what you know._

"Starbuck! Listen up! That's an order!" Apollo cried tersely as he realized that if Starbuck didn't cut power, he would crash into the planet from the kinetic energy propelling his fighter forward,_if_he survived the penetration of the atmosphere. "Cut your thrust!"

"And edge your nose up! Your entry angle is too high!" Boomer added emphatically.

The voices filtered through the haze of pain, and Starbuck's own thoughts. Blindly, he reached forward, tears streaming down his face as his eyes burned from the smoke. He slowly pulled up the stick, feeling his ship reacting to the gravitational pull of the planet as he tried to reduce power. The Viper sputtered, then shuddered, feeling as though she would break apart.

"Starbuck, adjust your trajectory! You're decelerating too quickly!" Apollo snapped. The fighter wouldn't withstand much more in the way of the high 'g' forces and temperatures that Starbuck was currently subjecting her to. His friend had to be in bad shape to be flying like a first semester cadet, assuming he was still conscious. And if he wasn't . . . "_Starbuck_!"

Instinctively, Starbuck adjusted trajectory and speed in response to Apollo's prompting. His ship seemed to breathe an audible sigh of relief that her pilot was back in control. Or maybe that was the tylinium fuselage disintegrating beneath him. Lords, what he wouldn't give to have C.O.R.A. with him right now. _Starbuck! Honey!_

"That's it, buddy!" Apollo encouraged him, as he watched the course correction. "Now cut thrust. Boomer's looking for a nice, soft place for you to land."

"I'm on it!" Boomer verified, looking over the readouts. "Got it. Dead ahead, Bucko. Just follow me down."

Now, 'dead ahead' was just a lousy choice of words. Starbuck would have told him so too, if he had any spare breath left with which to ridicule his friend. As it was, his head was spinning from the lack of oxygen as he laboured to draw each successive breath, while trying to spot Boomer's bird through an increasing haze of smoke, with tears clouding his vision and pain wracking his body.

_Keeping in mind you haven't even landed yet, Bucko. Things could get worse. Much worse._

"Starbuck, level her off!" Apollo coached him insistently as the front of the Viper dipped once again. "We have a nice empty field straight ahead with your name on it, but if you don't get your nose up, you're going to bury your bird."

Vaguely, Starbuck wondered how he had managed to do this alone the first time around. Boomer had told him that he had only escorted him beyond the battle zone, pointing him in the right direction. Sweet Sagan, he must have been flying with a guardian angel on his shoulder, and the Goddess of Luck on his lap.

Too bad they jumped ship when he landed.

"Cut your power, Starbuck!" Boomer reminded him tersely.

One moment, he was doing his best to try and follow his friends' instructions, forcing his reluctant body to comply. The next he was roughly jolted in several directions as the ground rushed up to meet him. He yelled in agony as his already battered body protested the abuse. Then the sickening scream of metal, and blinding pain obliterated all else as he lurched forward, succumbing to the darkness.

Apollo tore off his helmet and grabbed his med kit as his Viper glided to a stop. He hurdled over the side, jumping to the ground, and racing towards the smouldering wreck of a fighter that entombed his buddy. Boomer was likewise sprinting for the crash site, carrying his gear.

Apollo's heart was in his throat, as he took in the condition of the fighter. Half buried from the downward trajectory when Starbuck had touched down, she had lost her starboard wing, and her front end had crumpled from the impact. A charred, marked dent on her left side clearly indicated where a Cylon shot had connected with the craft in battle. Smoke wafted downwind of the site, and Apollo renewed his pace, leaping over the jettisoned canopy, when he saw the continuous sparks of electrical currents discharging near the fuel cells.

He stumbled to a halt, dropping his equipment, and reaching towards Starbuck, who was slumped forward in the cockpit. Standing there, Apollo was almost on an even level with the ship, being partially buried in the turf. He easily reached for his friend, laying his fingers upon the other's neck, silently praying he would find a pulse.

"Is he alive?" Boomer asked, arriving out of breath.

"Yeah." Apollo nodded. He reached for Starbuck's helmet, easing it off his buddy. Instinctively, he tilted his friend's neck back, cradling the limp head, ensuring there was an adequate airway. He brushed unruly hair back from closed eyes. "Starbuck?"

"How bad is he?" Boomer asked grimly as he saw the blood spatters on the control panel. He reached into his emergency med kit, searching for the life mask.

"I'm no med tech, Boomer." Apollo returned a little sharper than he had intended. He leaned closer to Starbuck as his friend's body began to tense, and a raspy groan was torn from his throat.

"Easy, buddy, you're going to be alright."

Blue eyes flew open and his face contorted in agony as Starbuck arched his back, trying to escape the pain. His chest heaved rapidly, each breath a torturous effort, as he desperately tried to suck precious air into his lungs.

Boomer thrust a life mask into Apollo's hands, and then grabbed a hypospray, administering a dose of analgesic. The life mask covered Starbuck's face, delivering the much needed oxygen. Their friend's eyes fluttered unseeingly, as his body began to slightly relax, and he covered Apollo's hand with his own, weakly pulling at the offending mask.

"He has a chest wound. I'm not sure if it was from the impact, or from being shot up," Boomer reported, gritting his teeth as he moved the blood soaked uniform aside to peer at the jagged hole in his friend. He could feel himself turn an interesting shade of pale. "Sagan . . ." he muttered, swallowing the bile back down his throat, as he met Apollo's eye. The captain was continuing to ignore Starbuck's futile attempts to remove the life mask. Boomer reached into the med kit for a field dressing, tearing open the package and pressing the adhesive pad securely in place.

"We have to get him out of the Viper," Apollo said. "Ready?"

"Ready as I'll ever be," Boomer replied reluctantly. He glanced at Apollo. "This is going to hurt him like Hades."

"Going up in flames will hurt him more," Apollo pointed out, glancing back at the fuel cells. He idly cut the power switches.

Boomer sighed, scampering up on the Viper, behind and above Starbuck. He squatted down, carefully balancing himself as he reached down. "Move him forward, so I can get a grip on him."

Apollo put an arm around Starbuck's shoulder, pulling him gently forward while keep the life mask in position. Starbuck's hand still gripped his own, but he seemed less intent on jerking the oxygen away in his drug induced state.

Boomer slid his arms around his buddy. "Here we go. One, two, three." He pulled up steadily, his brow furrowing as Starbuck moaned loudly in protest. The moan abruptly turned into a scream, and Boomer stopped, looking searchingly at Apollo. "He's stuck." He eased the struggling man back down before he did more harm than good.

Apollo strapped the mask in place. He murmured soothingly, "Easy, buddy. You're okay. We've got you." He pulled Starbuck's hands away from the mask once again, as the unfocused eyes stared past him wildly. Starbuck was gasping for air at something approaching light speed as he writhed in pain. Apollo grabbed the hypospray, dosing the other again.

"The front of the fuselage _is_ caved in." Boomer pointed out the obvious. It was possible the metal was mangled enough to ensnare the pilot.

Apollo pulled himself up, leaning into the cockpit with his feet dangling in midair, feeling Starbuck grasp at him instinctively. He tilted further downwards, trying to see what was preventing Starbuck from clearing. Reaching down, he followed Starbuck's legs with his hands, until he palpated razor-sharp metal biting into an ankle from above. "Frack! It's like an animal trap." He pulled back his bloody hand, well aware that none of the blood was his own.

"Can you pry it back?" Boomer asked.

"With what? A hypospray?" Apollo asked in agitation.

"The prybars in our ships," Boomer returned evenly.

"Right. Sorry, Boomer," Apollo returned chagrined as he righted himself, and dropped back to the ground. He jogged towards his ship, thanking the prescience that made the ground crew recently add a Boraton Blaster and a prybar to routine emergency supplies, as well as a few other well intended tools, 'just in case'. And, of course, Boomer's recollection of the occasion.

Within microns, he was jogging over to Boomer's ship to additionally retrieve the lieutenant's Boraton supply, and then back to Starbuck's fighter. Suddenly, he heard another current spark on the ship, and watched with growing horror as a flame licked to life. Boomer jumped down from the fighter, wearily looking back to the fuel cells, half a metron from the flame, before looking desperately back at Apollo.

"STARBUCK!" Apollo screamed.

The captain sprinted back to the ship, Boraton Blasters in one hand, and the prybar in the other. Flooding the growing flame back and forth, over and over, he just couldn't obliterate the mental image he had come up with of Starbuck's ship bursting into flame as Iblis had predicted. The first blaster emptied far too quickly, as yet another flame erupted on the opposite side of the ship. Apollo raced around the fighter, attacking the newest threat to his friend. Finally, as the flames extinguished, the second Boraton supply sputtered out.

"That was too fracking close," Boomer commented, clapping a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"And it could happen again, only this time, we're out of Boraton," Apollo returned shakily.

"What about Starbuck's?" Boomer asked, peering into the wrecked ship. "Forget it. His emergency kit is crushed."

"We'd better move, Boomer."

Again, they manoeuvred into position, Boomer behind Starbuck, Apollo pitching facedown into the cockpit. The constant sound of Starbuck's low moans and rasping breaths leant a sense of urgency and desperation to their task. Apollo pried at the jagged metal, trying to ignore the increasing cries of distress coming from his friend as he manipulated an ankle that was clearly mutilated.

"Apollo, she's sparking again!" Boomer yelled.

"I've just about got it!" Apollo hollered back, feeling jagged metal dig into his own fingers, as the prybar slipped, and his blood mix with Starbuck's. "Frack!"

"Apollo!" Boomer hollered, as he wrapped his arms around Starbuck's chest, briefly weighing the amputation of his half-insensate friend's foot against the possibility that they would all die in an imminent explosion. Glancing back, he could once again see flames licking to life near the fuel cells. He reflexively began pulling his friend upward, not wanting to even think about having to cut through Starbuck's leg with a Colonial Blaster on a low setting. Besides, it probably wouldn't be fast enough. "Hurry! She's on fire!"

"Please, Lord . . ." Apollo murmured, furiously releasing the clasps on Starbuck's boot when it became clear that the leather was embedded in the tearing metal. "Boomer, stop!" he hollered, as the foot twisted further into the ensnaring metal with the upward momentum. He grabbed the bloodied ankle, pulling at the foot as he pushed at the boot. Boomer relented, and, with a bit more manipulation, Starbuck was free. "Now!" Apollo screamed.

Boomer pulled upward once again, dragging Starbuck from the cockpit, his weight seeming unbelievably light under the influence of fear and adrenaline. Apollo surfaced, his feet hitting the ground, and he grabbed Starbuck around the waist, lowering his buddy over his shoulder.

"Go!" Boomer shouted, as he jumped down from the Viper behind them.

They raced across the field, trying to safely clear the fighter. Abruptly, a shockwave hit them, hurling them to the ground as the sound of the Viper exploding filled the air.

Apollo crawled forward, covering Starbuck with his body as debris rained down on them. The body beneath him was inert, and Apollo once again lay his fingers across his friend's neck to check for a pulse.

"Apollo?" Boomer asked, wriggling over to join them.

"He's alive, Boomer. But his pulse is racing, and thready," Apollo replied, gently rolling Starbuck over.

Alarmingly, the blood stain on his tunic had tripled, saturating the dressing and covering most of his thorax and abdomen. Starbuck's lips were tinged blue, and his chest rose and fell rapidly. Too rapidly. Beneath his ankle was another pool of blood where the mangled limb had been severed almost half way through the bone. His head lolled from one side to the other, as he breathed through slightly pursed lips, but otherwise didn't respond.

"Bucko?" Apollo shook him gently, brushing his hair back from his closed eyes. _Ever in need of a haircut . . ._ "C'mon, buddy, don't give up now."

"He's . . . bleeding to death." Boomer drew in a breath, releasing it sharply as he pressed on the chest wound. He bit a lip as Starbuck gasped weakly in pain, grimacing before seeming to sink even further into unconsciousness. "We saved him from the fracking fire, only to watch him bleed to death from his injuries."

Apollo paused for a moment, knowing Boomer was probably right. Despite that, he scurried down to Starbuck's feet, removing his belt and looping it around his friend's leg, cinching it up, and using it as a tourniquet. His chest ached with repressed emotion and he gritted his teeth before angrily spitting, "Iblis' going to win after all."

If only he had taken the time to listen to Starbuck when he had first reappeared on the _Galactica_. If only he had dragged his friend to the OC and poured him an ambrosa before listening to his tales and troubles, instead of reporting to the Commander's quarters as ordered. Maybe they could have formulated a plan. Maybe they could have beaten Iblis. Maybe they could have gotten stinking, falling-down drunk one last time before Starbuck left him for good. He had failed his best friend again.

Tears suddenly filled Apollo's eyes. He looked around blindly, shaking his head in disbelief. Yeah, maybe Starbuck wouldn't be going up in flames, but he was still going to die. Only this time the captain knew it was because his friend had selflessly sacrificed himself to save Apollo's miserable hide from a pinwheel attack, even knowing it would lead Starbuck to his grave. Leave it to his friend to thumb his nose at the devil on his way out. "We didn't change _anything._Not a fracking thing!"

"We tried." Boomer offered, looking away from the other as he felt his own tears well in reaction to Apollo's. "At least, we'll be here with him. At least, he won't die alone this time."

Apollo shook his head mutely, unable to speak. He climbed to his feet, assessing the area once again. He needed to _do_ something.

"We could . . . comm for a shuttle. Viper escort," Boomer suggested, feeling like they were just giving up.

"It would take too long to get here from the _Galactica_," Apollo replied, as he manhandled the jettisoned canopy over, and elevated Starbuck's feet on it. "Then again, we don't have anything to lose by trying."

Boomer nodded briefly, still leaning on his friend's chest, applying pressure. "I'll stay with him."

"I guess we managed to lose both med kits?" Apollo asked, looking back at the flaming destruction of Starbuck's fighter. Both kits had been abandoned at the crash site.

"Yeah, afraid so." Escaping the blast had been foremost on his mind, not packing appropriate luggage for the trip.

Apollo nodded tersely before he jogged over to his fighter, quickly climbing into the cockpit. He fired up the comm system, pulling on the helmet as he kept half an eye on his friends.

"This is Captain Apollo to the _Galactica_. We have a medical emergency, and require immediate assistance."

The comm crackled to life, and he wondered exactly how long it would take before the Life Station could send help their way. Maybe, if they could keep Starbuck from going further into shock and control his bleeding, he would actually have a chance. _God willing._

"Standby, Captain."

Apollo let out a deep breath, and glanced back at his friends. It was then he noticed Boomer had begun chest compressions on Starbuck.


	17. Epilogue

Life Station. It _had_ to be the Life Station.

The persistent sound of mechanical alarms, that drew you back from the edge of oblivion repeatedly, despite the fact that oblivion was a much better place to be. The overpowering odour of disinfectant, which masked bad organic smells that technology had been trying to rid the universe of for milli-yahrens—_unsuccessfully_, he might add. The pain and the nausea that were supposed to have at least a dozen treatments each, and none of them seemed to work worth a damn.

Lords, he _hated_ the Life Station. But, on further reflection, it usually beat the alternative.

"Starbuck?"

The voice was familiar. He could almost picture a face. A couple eyes. A nose. Probably a mouth. All hanging out beneath a forehead. Yep, there was a face behind that voice. Danged if he knew whose it was though.

"Are you awake?"

"No." The voice that answered was hoarse. Raspy. He opened his eyes then, sensing that something wasn't quite right.

"Captain. You've been unconscious for a sectar. We thought we'd lost you when the shuttle brought you in. By the grace of Asmodei, you pulled through." Violet eyes gazed down on him, framed by a pale face and black hair. Even white teeth smiled at him behind a neatly trimmed beard. Tartarus. "I'm afraid the injuries were quite severe, and we'll have to give you a medical discharge, but that's what you get for not following orders, Captain." Then abruptly, he smiled, and his face transformed into something hideous. Monstrous.

_Iblis._

Starbuck looked away, glancing down at his form. He choked on a startled breath as he saw the outline of one-and-a-half legs beneath the bioblanket. Slowly, painfully, he reached forward with a scarred, mutilated hand that refused to bend and grip. Determined to see the rest, he knocked the blanket aside clumsily, and it slipped to the floor.

Bile rose in his throat, and he swallowed down a wail of torment, as he bit through his lip, tasting his blood. The taste was as acrid as the sight before him. His right leg had been amputated just below the knee, and what remained of his battered body was hideously disfigured and scarred. His heart pounded in his chest, panic and grief overwhelming him, as he stared in horror around the _Pegasus_ Life Station and the exclusively Dionian crew. Dr. Talib smiled back at him serenely.

Somehow he was back in that nightmare. He hadn't died after all.

Or maybe he _had_, and this was his own private eternal damnation. Dionians approached him in a tightening circle, looking at him malevolently. Starbuck raised a shaking hand to his face, feeling a ropey, scarred surface, evidence to further scarring. His entire body shook with revulsion and terror as he sat up abruptly and screamed, "NO!"

"Easy there, Starbuck. You're all right!"

Arms restraining him, preventing any movement. Pain flaring through his body. Panic overwhelming him. Above all else was the overpowering need to escape, as he stared unseeingly at the innumerable Life Station images before him.

He abruptly shoved against the body before him, almost surprised when he was immediately released as the other flailed helplessly backwards. Within a milli-centon, he was off the biobed and racing towards the door.

He made it two steps, before crashing to the floor in agony, his right leg collapsing beneath him. He gasped, feeling the flesh rip from his body, and incredible pressure in sensitive areas as medical equipment tumbled down on top of him. Still, he climbed laboriously to his knees, intent on escape.

"Starbuck! Stop! You're pulling out your tubes!"

Arms reached around him from behind, gripping his arms, and pulling him back against a strong chest as he struggled anew to escape.

"I've got him!"

They tumbled to the floor again, Starbuck atop of his newest attacker, squirming to get free.

"Starbuck, calm down!" Then hands gripped his face and familiar green eyes locked on his own. "It's Apollo and Boomer! You're safe! It's okay!"

Starbuck froze, though his body trembled from head to toe as he gazed disbelievingly at his friend. "Apollo?" he rasped. His body felt as though a thousand electrical impulses were running through it and his muscles twitched in reaction to the adrenaline rush.

"Yeah," the captain looked beyond his friend to the sparse medical team, his brow knitting in consternation. "Can we get some help here?"

Starbuck took shuddering breaths as he dared to look down his length. No hideous scarring, two feet, several regeneration sleeves, a few tubes in the usual uncomfortable places, and a blood soaked dressing on his chest. Oh, and he was stark naked. _How nice_. He continued to tremble, as if in shock, and he gritted his teeth, willing his body under control.

It ignored him.

"Easy, Bucko." Boomer murmured behind him.

"Are you okay now?" Apollo covered him discretely with a bioblanket.

"Okay? I'm naked in the middle of Life Station and sitting on Boomer's lap! Let me up," he demanded. Usually, they afforded him the meagre modesty of an infirmary gown as a patient.

"Nothing we haven't seen already." Boomer teased him. If anything, he tightened his hold as if afraid his friend would bolt again. "Wait till they untangle you, Bucko. You're sure to hurt something that you might need again."

Apollo smiled down at him in amusement, nodding his agreement as he looked at tubes and dressings that were strewn in every direction. _Leave it to Starbuck._

"You look like you're enjoying yourself," Starbuck commented scathingly as he studied Apollo studying _him_. Or as scathingly as a naked warrior sitting on his buddy's lap, receiving a hug that Ursus would be proud of, could sound.

"Could be," Apollo returned, as the redness crept up the other's neck, flushing his face. Starbuck blushing! He didn't actually think that was possible. Lords, he didn't think he'd be having another laugh at his buddy's expense. Ever.

A med tech finally intervened, unwinding tubes, and uprighting equipment. All the time she considered her patient nervously.

"He's okay now. He was just a little disoriented. Right, Starbuck?" Boomer coached him.

Starbuck nodded slowly, recognizing her from his last prolonged Life Station stay. It bothered him that he couldn't remember her name. It bothered him more that he couldn't remember anything that had happened since Apollo and Boomer had talked him down. "We're on the _Pegasus_?"

"Yes, where did you think you were?" She asked.

"The _Pegasus_ . . . or maybe Hades hole." He smiled faintly at her assessing mien. She'd be marking this down on his record. That could potentially lead to a psych evaluation. He back-pedalled. "It's . . . hard to tell them apart sometimes."

Then she smiled in appreciation at his attempt at humour. It lit up her whole face, and he abruptly realized she was very attractive. It was almost enough to ease his throbbing chest and ankle as she ran the biomonitor over him. Almost.

"I don't think you've done anything too serious, though I'm not sure your lung's fully inflated." She frowned at a large bloody hose lying discarded on the floor, a victim of his escape attempt. She looked at his friends as she delivered a dose of analgesic via hypospray to her unsuspecting patient with a slight-of-hand that would make a pickpocket envious. "Do you think you can get him back in the biobed? We'd really like to keep the weight off that foot, until the regeneration treatments are completed."

"Of course," Apollo agreed, pulling a slightly subdued Starbuck forward as Boomer slid out from behind him. Together they picked him up easily, and deposited him back on the bed, where he sucked in an audible breath as they set him down. Boomer met Apollo's eye across their friend, concern on his features. The captain nodded soberly.

"How did I get here?" Starbuck asked, not missing their exchange. The med tech began replacing dressings, adjusting regeneration sleeves and realigning remaining tubes.

"Sheba commed the _Pegasus_ for a shuttle and med tech before we even entered the planet's atmosphere," Apollo told him. It had been the closest Battlestar to the planet. "Just when . . ." He glanced at Boomer again, recalling how he had found out microns after the lieutenant had begun trying to resuscitate Starbuck, that help was on the way. It had buoyed their spirits as they began working on Starbuck together to keep blood and oxygen flowing through his body, feeding his vital organs, until advanced life support could be initiated by the pros. "Let's just say they arrived just in time."

"What about the Base Star?" Starbuck asked, changing the topic. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know how far gone he was, especially after that dream . . . He shuddered reflexively, glancing at Apollo in bemusement as his friend tucked the blanket around him on that side. Lords, he must have been _pretty far gone_ for his buddy to go paternal on him.

"The _Pegasus_ managed to get in the first strike. They destroyed it." The captain told him. "By the time their fighters were recalled, there was nothing left of the Base Star to return to."

"And Count Iblis?"

"Iblis disappeared, taking the Dionians and their ships with him." Boomer answered.

"Just . . . disappeared?" Starbuck asked, shaking his head and recalling how the last time it had seemed to take the Ship of Lights to scare off the Count.

"Well, I was hoping _you_ could explain what happened out there, Starbuck," Cain interrupted suddenly from the foot of the biobed, his face discoloured by bruising. "Iblis told us that it had begun, then he disappeared. Whatever had begun, obviously didn't turn out the way he had planned, and the captain here," he indicated Apollo, "thinks you had something to do with it."

It seemed to Starbuck that Iblis actually thought he would let that pinwheel attack take out his buddy. Somehow Iblis had determined that he could change the past or alter the future, by distorting reality . . . or at least Starbuck's perception of reality. That somehow the new life that the conniving Count had created for him on the _Pegasus_—as the strike captain, son of Commander Cain, and popular leader who could get hot, casual sex whenever he wanted it—was supposed to make him want to avoid death at any cost, including that of Apollo's life. Iblis hadn't truly understood what motivated Starbuck at all. He had underestimated his loyalty to his friends, and hadn't counted on friendship, allegiance or selflessness. Ten to one, the Count didn't really understand such concepts. Such base Human values were beyond his comprehension.

"I can't really explain it for certain. I _think_ Count Iblis wanted me to sit back and let something happen, which I wasn't prepared to do." Starbuck avoided Apollo's penetrating, searching gaze. "Honestly, I don't think Iblis understands human nature. Or maybe the full breadth of it. The good as well as the bad," Starbuck returned, not really wanting to admit to Apollo that he was supposed to let his friend die. He looked over the Commander curiously. "What happened to you, Commander?"

"Apparently, _I_ don't understand demonic nature," Cain quipped wryly, touching a hand to his battered face. Then his features sobered. "How soon before you can return to duty, Captain?"

"Uh . . .well . . ." Starbuck stammered as Apollo and Boomer gaped in disbelief.

"That was a . . .a little attempt at humour." Cain explained to the three with a faint smile.

"_Very_ little," Starbuck returned, for a moment forgetting they were once again merely commanding and subordinate officers. "Sir."

Cain smiled tolerantly, studying the younger man for a long moment. Starbuck had been to Hades Hole and back again since he had turned up sectars ago. A lesser man would have crumpled into a quivering heap before such adversity. Instead, Starbuck had overcome and excelled time and time again. He was loyal, talented, ambitious, brave and determined. Not only that, but he had guts enough to tell his Commander when he thought Cain was full of felgercarb. No, the young warrior might not be his son, but despite his lack of bloodline, he had earned the right to continue to wear the rank pins as the _Pegasus_ Strike Captain, even now that they were back with the Fleet. His daughter had as much as told him so, not wanting to let any misunderstanding between them stand in the way. Of course . . . "We need to coordinate with Commander Adama and Captain Apollo, and begin discussing how we're going to reorganize our military forces now that the _Pegasus_ is back with the Fleet, Starbuck. I'll be leaving a lot of those decisions to you."

"Sir?" Apollo asked, glancing at Starbuck who seemed to be digesting the information. "You want to redistribute the squadrons?"

"Yes, Captain. I see the _Pegasus_ as leading more offensives than the _Galactica_, being more deployable. And, as you remember, I transferred many of my non-essential personnel to the _Galactica_ over Gamoray. We've been operating with a bare bones crew for sectars now. It's time to flesh them out again."

"I . . .see, Sir." Apollo nodded, wondering how aware his father was of Cain's presumed roll as the more _deployable_ Battlestar.

"Sounds like we'll have to spend a fair amount of time on this, Apollo." Starbuck nodded pensively, imagining the deluge of administrative felgercarb he'd be wading through. It really wasn't his forte. Then he smiled, his eyes sparkling with devilry, "Daily Strike Captain meetings . . . in the OC to come up with a detailed plan. Alternating Officer's Clubs, to be fair." A few stiff ambrosas could ease his pain.

"_And_ personal tabs," Apollo added pointedly.

"You wound me," Starbuck protested half-heartedly. "Besides, if we drink on duty, it's on the House." He leaned closer and whispered, "At least that's the arrangement on the _Pegasus_."

Apollo sniffed in amusement. "And how do you suggest we decide how to split the squadrons?"

"I'll play you for them. A pilot a hand."

"I'm not playing cards for pilots." Apollo chuckled. "How about Triad? A pilot a point?"

"Hmm," Starbuck returned, sizing up the other sceptically. "I'm not exactly up for Triad today. Can you wait until I can walk and my lung re-inflates?" Then he grinned mischievously. "Or have you realized that the only way you can beat me one-on-one, is if I'm in a hoverchair on a life mask?"

"Make it tomorrow, and I'll give you a five point handicap," Apollo retorted slyly, his eyes twinkling with merriment.

"I _might_ take you up on that," Starbuck rejoined with a grin.

Cain looked at them dubiously until Boomer leaned towards him. "I think that was a little attempt at humour, Sir."

"_Very_ little, Lieutenant," Cain deadpanned. "I've already begun the transfer of some staff, medical personnel being crucial right now. And, I regret to inform you, Captain Apollo, my daughter will also be requesting a transfer back to the _Pegasus_." He glanced at Starbuck intently. "It's your call, Captain, but I believe she'd make a fine Squadron Leader."

"I know she would, Sir." Starbuck replied with a nod, glancing at Apollo to see how he was taking the news. Sheba was a career oriented woman who was also devoted to her father. It didn't surprise him that she wanted to be reassigned back to Cain's flag ship when her father had suddenly arisen from the supposed dead. By the looks of Apollo though, it had surprised him. "Uh, sir, you said that additional medical personnel would be transferred?"

"That I did, Starbuck." Cain nodded.

"Would Cassiopeia . . .?" Dare he hope?

"She would," Cain agreed.

And in she walked on cue, Sheba right behind her.

Yeah, he knew he was grinning like an idiot, but, Sagan sakes, it was good to see her. As her arms crept around him, the embrace felt like paradise. Starbuck pulled her close, just breathing in her scent for a moment.

"I take it, that means you're pleased about my transfer?" Cassiopeia asked coyly, pulling back to rest her forehead against Starbuck's.

"Oh, yeah." He replied, really relaxing for the first time since he had awakened. It was almost too good to be true.

"I was a bit . . . surprised to hear about _your_ transfer request, Sheba," Apollo murmured aside to her.

Sheba pulled the _Galactica_ captain aside, moving them away a few discreet paces. "Starbuck needs the support, and I'm the obvious choice as his second. Besides, I think _we_ will have a better chance if I'm not under your command." She smiled wryly as she considered her next words before voicing them. "You tend to overreact when I question your authority, because of our relationship. And _I_overreact when you question my abilities, for the same reason."

"We should talk about this later," Apollo whispered.

"I've already made my decision, Apollo. I honestly think we'll have a better chance at a relationship if we're not breathing down each other's throats day in and day out." Sheba looked back at Starbuck. "Besides, this is Starbuck's moment. We almost lost him for the second time. Let's talk about this later, and be happy that he's alive now."

"How long did it take you to prepare that speech?" Apollo asked, not being able to find fault with a word of it. His initial reaction was that she was leaving him, but instead, she was potentially easing their flight path, by decreasing the stressors that had been plaguing their relationship. At least, that was how Sheba obviously saw it. Not that he necessarily agreed with her.

"The whole trip over here." Sheba smiled, before lightly kissing him, feeling her father's eyes on her the whole time.

"I hate to interrupt this party," the med tech intervened, "but Captain Starbuck_really_needs to get some rest."

Sheba squeezed Apollo's hand before moving to Starbuck's side, and hugging him lightly. "Hey, hotshot, I'll hold down the fort until you're back on your feet again."

"Or at least until they can hold you up without biocrutches," Boomer quipped, drawing a chuckle from both Apollo and Starbuck.

"How are you at the administrative felger, Sheba?" Starbuck asked hesitantly. Apollo and Boomer met eyes over him and grinned.

"Exceptional. Why?" she asked, feeling as though she was being set up.

"Oh, just wondering," Starbuck replied, knowing the duty office was in disarray already from overdue reports.

"Hmm." She rose her eyebrows, realizing a quick trip to the duty office would be in order. "Get some rest, Starbuck."

They began filing out one by one, until only Boomer, Apollo and Cassiopeia remained. His two friends stood on either side of him, as though lost for words, and wanting to say something meaningful. They stared at him searchingly for a long moment. He couldn't take the silence any longer.

"You're not going to hug me again, are you?" Starbuck asked Boomer.

Boomer smiled ruefully before admitting, "I'm considering it."

"Did we win?" Apollo asked him quietly.

"Over Iblis?" Starbuck watched Apollo nod. "Yeah. We won."

"There was a time down there on that planet that Boomer and I wouldn't have agreed with you," the captain returned grimly.

Starbuck nodded, thinking that over. "That's the kicker, though. Not only did Iblis _not_ get his revenge . . ." He glanced at Apollo, meeting his eyes for a long moment. His friend knew; he understood what had happened out there when Starbuck saved him from one more pinwheel attack. "But, because of your . . . loyalty to _me_, I survived as well." He looked between them, holding out his hand. "Thanks for that."

Boomer and Apollo smiled, each adding their hand to Starbuck's, until they were firmly joined in their three-handed grip.

"That's what good friends are for," Apollo returned.

"Exactly," Boomer added. "We stick together."

"_Ah hem!_" the med tech inserted as she passed by. She wasn't actually as attractive as Starbuck had initially thought, especially when compared to the radiance of Cassiopeia.

"Maybe we'll stop by and break you out tomorrow. Take you to the OC for a drink," Boomer suggested.

"The OC?" Apollo muttered. "We have a triad match tomorrow." He gripped Starbuck's shoulder, squeezing it affectionately. "I should have all of Blue Squadron, and half of Red before the end of the first quarter."

"Hey, I didn't agree to that," Starbuck protested with a grin, before adding, "I'll let you know."

They laughed as they departed, and he realized he felt happier now than he had in sectars. Blessed Lord Sagan, it was good to be back with his friends.

Yeah, if Iblis had _really_ understood human nature, this is the reality he would have arranged for Starbuck. A first rate position as Strike Captain for the legendary Commander Cain; working side by side with Apollo as they planned the integration and redeployment of their warriors; Cassiopeia, the only woman he had ever considered sealing to, on board the same Battlestar; and the rest of his friends gathered around him, accepting him for who he was while offering their support.

A cold shiver suddenly ran down his back, and he wondered briefly if this could simply be the next staging of Iblis' plot. He glanced around hesitantly. Was it real? How could he tell?

"I love you," Cassiopeia whispered, her breath tickling the sensitive skin of his neck.

"I love you too," Starbuck replied, turning his head to kiss her, and pulling her close.

Well, it certainly _felt_ real. Besides, every potential plot deserved an exhaustive analysis before a final judgment could be made. It was in the rules and regulations . . . somewhere.

He kissed her again, meticulously beginning his preliminary investigation.

_The End_

Author's note:

Thanks to Aliana for helping out when I desperately needed a Beta-Reader!


	18. Pegasus Post Script By Request

More than one reader of this story has mentioned they'd like to see a scene where Adama apologizes to Starbuck. Well, after some musing, here's the result.

LZ

Pegasus Post Script—By Request

The nagging feeling that he was being watched. Not that he wasn't used to that, especially knowing that he was in the Life Station, but something about this presence demanded that he open his eyes and take notice.

So he ignored it a little longer, especially considering what had happened the last time.

"How is he doing?"

_Commander Adama!_

Lords, he really wasn't ready for this. Sure, Starbuck knew that a reunion with his former Commander was inevitable, especially now that he was Strike Captain of the _Pegasus_, but he was really hoping he could keep it on a strictly professional level for a while until he could work it all through in his head. His wounds were still too fresh, his pain too recent, his disappointment still a bitter taste in his mouth.

"Amazingly fine, Commander. We expect a full recovery and discharge in a few days, sir."

"Thank the blessed Lords," Adama replied, looking down at the young man that he had considered as an 'unofficial' son for too many yahrens to count. He could tell by the sudden inhalation of breath that the warrior knew he was there, but was likely trying to gather his defences before he was ready to face his old commanding officer. It both amused and disheartened him. It was so inherently Starbuck, yet Adama had hoped that at this point in their relationship that he would never be the cause of the young man trying so intently to control his emotions before looking him in the eyes. Then again, that was the main reason he had come. "Starbuck?"

One more deep breath, then Starbuck was ready. He opened his eyes. _Frack!_ Adama was studying him with that compassionate look that was already causing the backs of his eyes to prick dangerously. He drew two more steadying breaths as Adama reached forward and squeezed his shoulder. "Sir," Starbuck managed. Barely.

In retrospect, the truth of the matter was that Adama dismissing him at that moment that Starbuck most needed the Commander's support had done two things. First, it had made him stand on his own two feet at the exact time he was ready to lean up against a support system that he had relied on for over a deca-yahren. Second, it had made it easier to move on and accept the fact that his place on the _Pegasus_ wasn't just a temporary position until he returned 'home' to the _Galactica_; instead, it was his future.

_But it still hurt._

Yeah, despite the fact that lately it seemed he had fathers crawling out of every bulkhead, Adama had been the one constant in his life as far as fatherly-type role models went. He had known the commander since he and Apollo were cadets at the Academy, and when he had finally been transferred to the _Galactica—_after gaining a reputation as an officer who was more trouble than he was probably worth, despite his obvious skills in a cockpit—it was Adama who had been able to tame, or at least reign in, his wilder tendencies.

For some reason, just standing before Commander Adama, Military Leader and exalted member of the Quorum of Twelve, with the full force of that disapproving glower upon him, made Starbuck squirm worse than any orphanage matron, teacher, case worker, civil security officer, flight instructor, or superior officer ever had before. Strangely, it _mattered_ what Adama thought of him. Possibly because Adama had expectations based on Starbuck's character and skills, rather than the fact that he was just another government funded guttersnipe intended to wear the uniform of a Colonial Warrior until he fulfilled his destiny of being blown into oblivion while defending the freedom of the Twelve Worlds of Man and those under the Union's protection.

"Two things."

Starbuck blinked. It lacked Adama's usual eloquence, and he realized for the first time that the illustrious commander looked as uncomfortable as Starbuck felt. Somehow, the thought was grounding. Comforting. A little . . . amusing.

"Sir?" Starbuck asked, his voice steadier.

"First, I owe you an apology," Adama told him, watching Starbuck's eyes drop immediately from his own and look desperately around the Life Station for a potential escape route as his body fidgeted anxiously. Any micron now, he would rake his hand through his hair . . . _Ah, there it was._ He smiled faintly at the familiar gesture, unsure how he could ever entertain the thought that this boy could be remotely evil or untrustworthy. A possible quisling. "I didn't give you a chance to explain your point of view on what was happening, Starbuck. I allowed my . . . concern for the Fleet to get in the way of my judgment and common sense. I underestimated your will, your strength of character, and your allegiance to your people _and_ your friends. I'm truly sorry, Starbuck."

Starbuck shook his head, unsure of what to say. More than anything he was embarrassed that the commander felt the need to discuss it when _he _would have been satisfied to just drop it. Let it mellow with age like a fine ambrosa, until it finally just disappeared. "Commander, you don't have to . . ."

"Yes, I do," Adama replied softly. He would never forget the crushed look on Starbuck's face when he had cut him off and dismissed him. Nor would he forget Apollo's subsequent anger, or how he deserved it. "An honourable man admits his mistakes, Starbuck."

That was the crux of it. Adama was an honourable man.

"It's your responsibility to defend the Fleet, Sir. You didn't know . . ." Starbuck shrugged, dredging up some semblance of a smile as he abruptly reconciled Adama's decision to be fair and just, considering the lack of information he had at the time. "I understand why you did _what_ you did."

Adama smiled sadly. The product of society, Starbuck was a man who could too easily forgive being placed after God, Country and Responsibilities to the Union. Life's glaring lesson in social status, it had been reinforced repeatedly in the young man's lifetime by influential adults, although Adama had tried over the yahrens to change Starbuck's ingrained beliefs. The truth of the matter was that social inequity likely upset Adama more than Starbuck, and the commander had met few men as comfortable in their own skin and their lot in life as the officer before him now. Adama was also aware that belabouring the point would only make it more agonizing for the Colonial Warrior. As it was, Starbuck looked like he wanted to crawl under the biobed and disappear into the deckplate below. "Thank you, Starbuck." He left it at that.

"What was the . . . _other_ thing?" Starbuck asked hesitantly, anxious to change topics, but afraid of what was next. Lords, he hoped it was less painful than the first!

Adama had intended to once again thank him for saving Apollo's life, at considerable risk to his own. Now he realized that gratitude on top of an apology might well be too much for the young warrior to bear. Starbuck was waiting expectantly, like a man poised to evade a possible strafing run as his internal klaxon warned him of incoming. After all, there was still the issue of Chameleon to discuss. And, of course, Adama had contacted the aging conman and had lambasted him for discarding his son—his own blood—so easily, so callously. The thought of such flagrant cowardice and lack of responsibility still made his blood boil. But, after a long and enlightening discussion with Chameleon, Adama was now guardedly hopeful that he could gently guide Starbuck towards a reunion with his biological father . . .eventually. Instead, of raising the delicate issue with the obviously leery warrior, he simply spoke the words closest to his heart, "Son, you make a man proud to know you. Whether he be your father by birth, misunderstanding, or . . ._choice_." He smiled gently, as he accented the last word, silently offering ongoing support, friendship and guidance as long as it was needed.

"Thank you, Sir," Starbuck whispered. It was like a blight on his existence had abruptly lifted, leaving him feeling oddly exonerated. And, it occurred to him, as he looked into the compassionate gaze of Adama, that the Commander was the only man who had ever really fulfilled the role of father by helping to guide him from a respectable distance through the tempest that was his life, while giving him plenty of opportunity to make his own mistakes. Actually, the more that he thought about it, with the erratic and often tumultuous heading that the universe had seemingly set him on, it might just take all the combined skills and life experiences of the conman, the Juggernaut, and the venerable _Galactica_ commander to help keep him on course. _All_ his fathers. And while Cain was unpredictable, which could be a strength as well as a weakness; and Chameleon was untrustworthy, which admittedly might change _or_ might not; Adama would go the distance without a doubt.

In fact, a betting man would lay down cubits on it.


End file.
